


The Wayfarers

by TheFicti0nAddicti0n



Category: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Genre: Action/Adventure, Comrades, Drama, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2020-01-14 20:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 51,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18483343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFicti0nAddicti0n/pseuds/TheFicti0nAddicti0n
Summary: Motley outcasts, dejected mages, and sordid warriors find themselves on a collision course with destiny in this budding epic.Set in an Equestria wounded from Tirek’s bout for power. Where once compassion and warmth was well in stock, tragedy wrings the hearts across Equestria dry from the values they once so cherished. Monsters lurk blin everyone’s shadow. Some are beastly, some are equine. All of them are working to tear down the paper thin peace holding the kingdom together.Can courage and loyalty stop the darkening of Equestria's soul? Come, get swept up in a whirlwind of intrigue and action to find out!





	1. Wanderlust

The life of a wanderer is never easy. The very landscape itself becomes an obstacle. And while Alabaster and Little Whisper have been through the thick-and-thin of most of them, the dry badlands outside Dodge Junction offered a unique kind of punishment for their trip from the east coast.

The cloudless sky displayed a white knuckle sun in all its furious glory. Dehydration was more than a risk at this point of their journey, but a near certainty. Their canteens, those long time friends, had been left by mistake on the ship they sailed in on.

“How much farther can this place be?” Alabaster groaned. He was drenched in enough sweat to turn his white coat grey.

His companion smiled sweetly. “Don’t worry, Al, it can't be more than an hour or so away. Heck, you can already see the town from here!”

Sure enough, off on the horizon was the heat blurred, unfocused, and blotchy silhouette of a small western town. Sadly though, Little Whisper's estimation would be off by two hours.  _Well, isn’t dehydration great,_ Alabaster thought with bitter amusement.  _All the joy of a hangover without the booze._

He glanced at his earthpony companion. It came as no surprise to see that her dark blue coat and white braided mane were completely free of perspiration.

It wasn’t Whisper's unrelenting optimism that bugged Alabaster in these trying times, but the fact that nothing seemed to faze her. Not the humid jungles with flesh eating flies, not the tropical storm that almost sank their boat, and not even the miles of wear and tear they were putting on their hooves. Instead, she hummed through the heavy humidity, made friends with the flies, and practically had a ball on the swaying ship as if it were a rollercoaster. But he figured that was just Little Whisper.

“I can see it just fine,” Alabaster said, “But the damn place is further than it looks, I just know it…” Feeling that old twinge of temper rising up, he hung his head and gritted his teeth.

“You say it’s an hour away, but we both now you’re just being optimistic.... Sheesh! At this rate, I’m gonna have some fierce arthritis. The pony body was only meant to take so much, damn it!” Little Whisper couldn't help but to chuckle.

“You’re too young to be talking like that,” she said, nuzzling his shoulder. “Besides, aren't you built like a tank? Better not be wussing out on me now.”

Alabaster grinned. It was the closest thing to a smile that he had shown since they started their journey. It might have been a bit sly and competitive, but Little Whisper was happy to see it all the same.

“Oh, you know I am. No doubt about it! Still... even a tank needs a bit of maintence from time to time.”

“That’s true, I guess.”

Little Whisper’s smile lingered for a moment longer before it disappeared. She glanced into the flat, drylands around them. Chewing her lower lip, she contemplated a way of bringing up an idea to Alabaster. Then, like a hollow log floating to the surface of a lake, her kind smile returned.

“You know, the rest of this trip doesn’t have to take hours, Al. If you would let me-”

Alabaster stopped dead in his tracks. "No." He had been anticipating this subject for quite awhile, but had hoped it wouldn't rear it's ugly head.

Little Whisper felt her stomach lurch when she saw that his gaze had darkened. She never liked making anyone upset. Especially if that someone was Alabaster. Before Whisper could even open her mouth, she was quickly cut off again.

“I said no, Whisper! I know it looks pretty barren out here, but what if some cowpoke on a long drive was to see you… change? It's not out of the realm of possibility, you know? We are in cattle country. Then you'll have to change back when we get closer to town. And with the stories going around... just, no. We can’t take the risk.”

Whisper would have been fine dropping the subject, but she saw how the beads of sweat poured from Alabaster’s brow in a steady stream. The stout pegasis could handle pretty much anything life had to throw at him. Even in the Dragonlands Alabaster had handled the scorching summer with far better grace. But here, in the southern reaches of Equestria, the heat seemed different than in their homeland. It seemed... almost alive. Whisper thought the idea was silly, but she could see the demanding toll it was taking on her friend. It was as if the desert had a stranglehold on him.

“Al, just think about it a moment, okay? I… I can change and we can fly high enough to-”

“Damn it, Wisp, I said no!”

It was only when his voice cracked that Alabaster realized he was yelling. Although Little Whisper looked at him in an amiable manner, he could not help but see a slight sliver of hurt in her violet eyes.  _Way to play it cool, idiot._

“Believe me when I say that it’s for the best, Wisp,” Alabaster said, looking anywhere except at Whisper. “I know you’re worried. I can see it in the way you look at me... but I promise you that if the stupid shit I’ve pulled before hasn’t killed me, than this little flash won’t either.”

It was the closest thing to an apology he could muster without revealing the cold stab of guilt in his gut. Little Whisper simply gave a short nod, her smile appearing weak and strained.

As they resumed their push west, Alabaster felt his emotions weigh upon him a bit heavier than usual. Although Little Whisper carried on by his side with an almost sulky pluckiness, it wasn't long before the shadow over her face lifted and she was looking out at the world with wide-eyed fascination again. She would even begin to hum a little tune. It was one he knew well, though had never heard it from anyone else but her. Soon the tension dissipated like a wisp of smoke on cool, autumn breeze, and everything felt just about the way it was before his outburst.

And Alabaster was completely fine with that.

***

As the sun made its final plunge towards the horizon, the ponies clogging the arteries of Dodge Junction moved with all the enthusiasm and haste of slugs. Their jagged breaths, weak legs, and mopping wet brows were clear signs of a hard day’s labor. Most of these ponies would either flee to the cool comforts of their homes, or, if they were feeling a bit parched, to the local saloon.

By the City Hall, a flustered mare with a lemon colored mane and peach coat came strolling up to the side of a grey stallion who was eyeballing the batwing doors of said saloon lustfully. She pushed back the brim of her hat and waited for the buck to acknowledge her. When he failed to do so, she cleared her throat. The stallion awoke from his daze with a start. His glazed eyes twitching one way and then the other. It was as if he had gotten drunk from just staring at the saloon.

“Didn’t ya tell that pretty wife of yer’s that you’d steer clear of that place,” the mare asked, smiling deviously. “Because I hope that habit isn’t calling ya back now. You wouldn’t want it to make a liar out of ya, riiight?” Her drawl extended the last word, turning it into juicy morsel.

The stallion's eyes seemed to sober as they focused on the mare. After a moment’s consideration, he returned her smile timidly.

“Oh, hehe… Hey, Dusty. Yeah, guess I just got to thinkin’ about how nice and cool it must be in there. Thought maybe I’d pop in for a second, just to… you know, sit and say ‘hello’ to the fellas.”

Dusty gave him a sharp poke with her hoof, making him wince.

“Well, if ya’ wanta’ get cool then just go home! There’s no need to tempt yourself.”

The stallion pondered this for a moment before nodding. “I guess you’re right. I mean, the way ponies gab in this town, somepony would probably start runnin’ their mouth, talkin’ as if I went in there to get hammered. Thanks, Dusty.”

Dusty smiled and was about to say something else when a scream rolled over the town like a thunderclap, ripping the dead air from her mouth.

“Thank the motherly stars, I’m going to live!”

Everyone in the street froze, petrified with fear and confusion. A couple of pony heads peeked cautiously from the windows above the main street, their large eyes silently speaking the fears that no one else dared to mutter. After a few moments, the grey stallion standing next to Dusty managed to be the first to work back his courage.

“Um… Did that sound like it come from your farm, Dusty?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

Dusty’s ears immediately fell flat against her skull. She glanced tentatively about. Some part of her was almost afraid that she would see a deranged pony stumbling down the street, glaring at them with a rage reserved for only raving lunatics.

“I reckon it d-did, didn’t it? G-guess I need to g-go check on that... make everythings ok."

Dusty dashed off, leaving a trail of swirling dust in her wake. The stallion could only stare after her.

***

Little Whisper raised an eyebrow as she watched her friend delight himself. Alabaster stood on his hind legs and was neck deep in the cool waters of a metal trough. It would be some time before he reemerged.

“Don’t you think this is a little unethical?” Whisper asked, voice raised.

The thickheaded stallion was already hard of hearing without having his head submerging beneath gallons of water. Without warning, Alabaster’s came rearing up and out of the water with a dramatic  _sploosh_. Whisper recoiled a few paces back, avoiding the light shower flung her way. Afterwards, the only response she received from Alabaster was a deafening belch.

“Holy hell!” Alabaster exclaimed, brushing back his ashy mane, “That was  _exactly_ what the doctor ordered!”

When Whisper was confident that the threat of getting wet had passed, she saddled up next to him. “Hey, Al, can we please leave now?”

“What, are you crazy?” Alabaster beamed at her with manic joy. “I think I could drink another gallon, maybe two!”

A hint of color started to burn on Whisper’s cheeks. “That’s nice and all, but you do realize that we are trespassing, right?”

Alabaster just shrugged and readied himself for another dive into the trough.

“Alright…” Whisper sighed. “Do you also know you’re drinking water from a cow trough?”

Alabaster froze, brow furrowed.

“What the hell?” Alabaster exclaimed, finally noticing the two dozen cows gathered around him. They glared daggers at the two miscreants.  _How could I have missed that?_

“Welp, guess that explains the smell.”

“Excuse me...” A particularly sassy speckled cow strolled up to the two, her wide rear end practically swaying with each stride. “...But that there water is reserved for us working gals. We would very much appreciate it if you two deviants would go elsewhere for refreshments and stop soiling our only source of water!”

Alabaster grimaced. The bovine’s shrill voice drove a nail into his skull, making his tail twitch and his eardrums ache. The cow reminded Alabaster of an old mare he knew from his old tribe. Although, this cow seemed far less foul mouthed and brash than that crotchety old bitch.  _What a wonderful day it was when that old crone took her little dirt nap._

“Go bugger off, heifer,” Alabaster growled. “I’m as dehydrated as a strip of jerky, and as ill as a caged naga. So don’t think for a second that I won’t string you all up by your udders and buck your faces in like piñatas.”

As if Alabaster had lit a match, the cow’s eyes flashed with hostility. Her nostrils flared and one of her front hooves pawed at the ground. For a moment, it seemed as if she was about to charge Alabaster. Alabaster dropped back to all fours, hunkered down, and unfurled his wings.

“Come give me a try then, ya old Besse. It’ll be the biggest mistake of your life!”

The scene was close to escalating even further when Little Whisper intervened.

“Wait, Madame!” Whisper inserted herself between the two combatants. “You must excuse my friend. He is clearly not in his right mind! I mean, he was drinking from your trough.  _A trough!_  The sun's done made him delusional. Why don't we just let bygones be bygones, and go our separate ways? I can take my friend and get him back in his right mind.”

A warm smile and kind words had defused many situations like this back in their homeland. Whisper just hoped the same would be true for Equestria.

The bovine stared sourly at Little Whisper, considering the mare for a moment or two.

"Fine!" The cow said with a final shake of her head. "But I suggest keeping that brute on a shorter leash from now on, Missy, for he’s liable to get the both of you in a heap of trouble around these parts!"

With that, she spun around and tromped back to her herd. They had watched the scene unfold with mounting terror. Whisper waited for the herd to begin moving off before allowing herself to feel relief.

_For a second there, I thought Al might turn this little prairie into a slaughter house!_

Turning back around, Little Whisper realized that Alabaster was no longer with her. She found him staring off at the stocky buildings standing a quarter of a mile away from where they were. It was hard for her to believe that just a few hours ago the town had been nothing more than a blurry speck on the horizon.

Brushing a few stray braids of mane aside from her face, Whisper hurried to Alabaster’s side. There were quiet for a time. Alabaster awkwardly adjusted the worn saddlebag on his back. It had been pinching him something fierce ever since he stood up to drink from the trough.  _Yeah, never doing that again,_  he thought.

As the basked in the glow of the waning day, Alabaster thought he felt Little Whisper’s gaze upon him. Not just her gaze, but ‘ _the look_.' Little Whisper gave Alabaster 'the look' whenever he needed her to bail him out of trouble.

He always wished ‘the look’ was a simple expression of anger or exasperation. Alabaster could live with a little resentment thrown his way. Hell, hadn’t he spent most of his childhood awash with the anger and ire of his fellow tribe mates? But no, it could not be that easy. Little Whisper was too good of a friend to do that. Therefore, ‘the look’ would contain a soft frown and teary concern in those round eyes of her’s. Those big, big eyes….

_Why am I such a numbskull?_

Alabaster studied the purple brush strokes against the evening sky as he waited for Whisper to say something. Anything. When the words never came, Alabaster gave her a furtive glance. Turns out she wasn't even paying attention at him. Feeling a little relieved, Alabaster watched the rays from the sun’s dying light paint the blue pony’s coat an odd shade of gold. A small smile was just visible on the corner of her lips.

Whisper thought the town looked quite cozy with its sleepy, country charm. She then caught site of the railroad. Those train tracks were almost a heavenly sight, cutting through the land before and reaching out towards an entire kingdom. That strip of steel meant that hoofing it would be a thing of the past. As happy as she was at the sight of them, Whisper figured that Alabaster was probably even happier.

“We're one step closer, aren’t we?” The joy welling up in Whisper voice brought a lump to Alabaster's throat.

“I sure hope so,” he replied, trying to answer as levelly as he could. “Won’t be too long till we find a job and maybe start putting some more bits back on the table. Heaven knows it's about time for our luck to change.”

Whisper nodded slowly.

“I know it will, Al. Soon it’ll be nothing but feather beds, air conditioning, and indoor plumbing.”

He couldn’t help but agree. Much to his dismay, Alabaster found Whisper’s glee infectious. Soon they were both grinning like a couple of stoned buffoons as they watched the dying rays of light bath the countryside in its warm glow. To them, it seemed like a good omen for their new lives in Equestria. And though it may not have anything to do with the town, Alabaster felt hopeful that they might finally have a better life ahead for them.

***

As Alabaster and Little Whisper strolled down the main street of Dodge Junction, they were given something of a wide berth from the ponies out and about. A group of mares with manes done up in tight buns whispered eagerly to one another behind their hooves as the two past by. One proper looking fellow with a large top hat fondled his slick, greasy handlebar mustache as he studied the duo with hawkish eyes. Alabaster did his best to ignore all these dirty looks, but they seemed to gnaw at his fur like gnats. Among the many things he already hated, being stared at was one.  _This is not the place to cause a scene though, you stupid pony. Gotta keep that temper of yours under control,_  the stallion thought to himself, almost chanting it. He was all but certain that a fight with one of these country bumpkins would surely mean a brawl with their siblings and cousins too.  _You have to love small communities. The word ‘stranger’ has probably never even touched most of these ponies’ lips before._

The town only had about four major businesses, the two biggest being a trading outpost (also the train station) and a cherry farm, but it was the battered saloon that drew the interest of the thirsty Alabaster. After they passed what looked to be a tailor’s shop, Alabaster came to a screeching halt, almost skidding on his hooves. Little Whisper was about to ask if something was wrong when she followed his gaze. Her stomach dropped a bit at the sight of the weathered wooden cutout of a crazed pony reared up on its hind legs with a pint in its extended right hoof. Alabaster always seemed to gravitate towards the drink.

“Want me to get ya something cool to drink, Wisp?” Alabaster asked with a sly smile. Whisper only glared back.

“Oh wow, Al, that’s just hysterical. I even forgot to laugh.”

His smile turned into a snarky grin.

“I thought you’d like that,” he said before heading up the steps to the saloon with Whisper in tow. Before he even pushed through the batwing doors to enter, Little Whisper felt a spark of excitement that tingled from the crown of her head to the tips of her hooves. She had heard stories about southern Equestria and that a few of the towns in the region almost seemed to be living decades within the past. Though what she craved to see most was the hustle and bustle of the large cities like Manehatten or Fillydelphia, Whisper could not help but to jitter at the portrait already painted in her head of the old cliché saloon scene that had frequented many of the cowpony romance novels she had read many of late nights. Nights when Alabaster was drunk and not easily disturbed by low, guttural noises.

Much to Whisper’s relief, the novels had not led her wrong.

It was every bit what she was expecting it to be: a parlor like area that smelt of aging wood, musky cologne, and strong drinks. A few tables were seemingly scattered about, unused and unwanted. To the far wall in the back lay an abandoned pool table with a freshly raked set of billiard balls waiting for the next players to step up. Most importantly, to the right of the entrance was a polished bar that stretched the length of seven barstools.  _Just like a I've read,_  Whisper thought with glee.

As Little Whisper took in her surroundings with wide eyed curiosity, Alabaster’s attention was elsewhere. Shelves upon shelves of glistening bottles seemed to be beckoning to him from behind the bar. ‘High spirits for a low soul’, as Alabaster always said. Taking the first stool he came to, he noticed someone else sitting at the other end of the bar. Ironically, he probably would not have noticed the fellow if it were not for his odd appearance. The lean stallion had sharp, feline like features and a coat as black as a manticore's heart. The stranger’s mane hung down in long dark strands as his pale blue eyes stared at the bottled between his hooves.

Alabaster gave Little Whisper a prod and motioned towards the other fellow. “See that guy over there?” He asked in a low whisper. Whisper, having taken up the seat to Alabaster’s right, leaned forward against the bar for a better view. She grinned widely as her eyes went straight to the worn and dusty saddle bag he wore.

“He’s a traveler like us!”

“Quiet!” Alabaster hissed. Whisper’s gaze quickly averted to the shelves in front of her. The pegasus sighed and turned to face the stranger, an apology already on the tip of his tongue. Strange how suddenly the roles of the couple can be reversed.

“Look, don’t mind-” That was as far as he got before the words died out. The stranger was still staring at his drink. Alabaster gave shrug before looking forward once more.  _Whatever…_

After a minute or two, a broad stallion wearing a faded bowtie and a bowler hat approached Little Whisper and Alabaster from the opposite side of the bar top. His dull eyes met them with the same trepidation that they had received earlier in the street.

“Can I get ya’ll something?” He asked, giving his fuzzy handlebar mustache a quick stroke.  _You mean besides some service?_ Alabaster was doing his best not to scowl. He had made a promise to behave and he aimed to keep it. Little Whisper, however, almost seemed to beam at the barman. He was the finishing touch to complete the rustic portrait.

“Yeah, how about a shot of rum?” Alabaster answered. “That seems like a good place as any to start.” The pale stallion had had his mouth set for that stiff Eastern Import since they first got to Equestria.

_He complains all day about the scorching heat, then he wants to drink that crap?_  Whisper mused, shaking her head.  _There’s just some things I’ll never get._

“Sorry, lad, but we don’t sell the hard stuff here.” Little Whisper felt her breath catch.  _Oh dear,_  she thought.  _This can’t end well!_

Alabaster chuckled lightly and scratched his chin with the tip of his hoof. “I’m sorry, pal, but I think I misheard you. Cause for a minute, it sounded like you said that you don’t sell liquor.”

“Ya heard me right, lad. We don’t sell that hard stuff here.” A heavy hoof slammed down onto the bar top, josseling the bottles behind the barpony. Alabaster’s muzzle was mere inches from his now. From farther down the bar, the stranger stirred from the seclusion of his thoughts. He spared the two stallions a warily glance before returning his gaze to the bottle before him.

“Are you kidding me!” He growling, his pupils became flaming pinpricks. “What kind of lousy bar doesn't sell liquor!” The stallion acknowledged Alabaster with a contemptuous scowl.

“Ya’ll can still buy a bottle of cider for a bit if yer looking for a buzz, but no saloon in Equestria sells liquor. It was banned almost five years ago, something to do with a wild night at the Gala in Canterlot. Apparently them nobles can’t hold their liquor. Nearly burnt the whole darn city down, or so I heard.” Little Whisper could have sworn that she felt the temperature rise a few degrees when Alabaster slunk back in his seat.

“Fine,” Alabaster hissed, left eye twitching slightly. “Give me a bottle of cider then, or whatever it is. Just something with alcohol in!” He reaching into the saddle and pulled out a shiny bit before smacking it down on the bar.

“And stop calling me lad!” The bartender took the bit without another word, completely unperturbed by his newest patron’s outburst. Alabaster rested his head on the bar and stared tearfully at the glorious shelves of bottle before him.  _What’s the point of even having that shit on display if you’re not going to sell it? A complete and utter tease, that’s what it is!_  With another hearty sigh, Alabaster decided that living in Equestria was going to suck.

***

The sun had finally fallen below the horizon when Alabaster, now on his third bottle of cider, began to reconsider his decision that living in Equestria would suck. The sweet beverage nowhere near quenched his thirst for the burn, but the taste was fantastic and his head was already beginning to swim.

“Yeeep,” He sighed, lowering the bottle from his lips and following it with a low belch. “I think I could get use to this.” But Little Whisper’s attention was elsewhere.

Across the room, a cute young mare pushed a few strands of her fiery red mane from her eyes as she snuggled close to a smiling stallion. Occasionally the stallion would whisper something to the mare, nuzzling her gently. The mare would giggle in response and then whisper something back. Little Whisper watched the two with a mixed feeling of hunger and envy. Alabaster gave her a sideways glance when she never made to reply. It didn’t take him long to figure out what, or who, held her attention.

“It’s impolite to stare, Wisp,” he said, quickly turning back to his drink. “Someone may get the wrong impression about you.”

“I don’t care.” Her voice was a hollow reflection of her usually happy demeanor. “It’s so beautiful to see such affection, and out in the open too. I don’t think anyone in the Dragon Lands was so public about their feelings for another. If the rest of Equestria is like this, then I might not have to scrounge off of you for food anymore.” Alabaster peered at the bartender, his nerves twitching with fright. The lovable lunk seemed to be busying himself with the stock, and thus wasn’t paying a lick of attention to the two travelers.

“I know I’m not one to be saying this kinda thing, but you really shouldn't be talking like that, not here anyways. If anyone was to hear you-.”

For the first time in a long while, Little Whisper looked at him crossly.

“Believe me, Al, I understand the consequences of being discovered, but I can’t survive off of scraps forever.” This time, Alabaster was able to combat the guilt with a long hard swallow from the bottle. As awful as it made him feel when she referred to it as ‘scraps’, he knew there was no better word to call it.  _Scraps of a love long last..._

The silence between them stretched into minutes, and soon half an hour had rolled by. The third bottle of cider had been replaced with a fourth which was now half gone. Little Whisper had given up studying the couple and instead residing to brooding. Her verdian eyes flicked across the shelved bottles. It was not long after that when two chairs slide noisily across the wooden floor. Whisper’s ears twitched restlessly as she listened to the couple make their across the saloon. The exited through the swinging doors with one last fit of giggles. With a huff, she slid down from the stool and made her way to the entrance as well. Alabaster felt a flicker of anxiety.

Swallowing the mouthful of cider, Alabaster quickly asked, “Where are you off to?” To the pegasus’s credit, he did his best to conceal the tinge of worry in his voice. His best was not enough, however.

Little Whisper only paused for moment, one hoof raised to the doors, to answer with, “I’m not going to sit in here like a lump and watch you drink away your share of the bits... again.” With that, she left.

Alabaster tried, but could not find the words to keep Whisper from leaving. He did not know if he had been mentally disarmed by the unfamiliar coldness in her voice or by all the alcohol he had consumed (It was more than likely the later).  _She does seem to get pretty testy whenever I drink, doesn't she. Maybe there’s a correlation between the two,_ Alabaster pondered.  _Maybe I should think about qui-_  Alabaster shook the thought from his head. He wasn’t about to put down one of the few things that helped him bear the burdens of vagabond just because Whisper thought it was a wasteful habit. Besides, that is why they started dividing their bits in the first place. Ten percent for Alabaster, ten percent for Whisper, and eighty percent for travel expenses. Everyone is happy.

_She isn’t._

Alabaster found the silence uncomfortably heavy without Whisper at his side. For a moment, he even entertained the thought of leaving and trying to catch up with Little Whisper. However, his pride kept him anchored to the barstool. How could Alabaster still be the fearless leader of their shotty duet if he went running and groveling to Whisper every time he made her unhappy? The answer is he couldn't. They wouldn’t be able to get  _anywhere._

Instead, Alabaster took a long pull from his bottle and just about drained it dry. It suddenly dawned on him that he wasn't actually alone in the saloon. A quick sideways glance showed him that the dark stranger and his untouched drink had not moved an inch.  _Well pal, I guess it’s just you, me, and the bartender._  The bartender suddenly disappeared behind a door beside the long shelves. More than likely that was the stockroom.  _Well then... It’s you and me. Hope you’re ready to make a new friend, ‘cause ready or not, here he comes._

Alabaster had always savored barroom talk --especially when he had managed to put a few drinks back-- and he desperately wished to rid this painful silence (he wasn’t the kind of guy to be a brooding drinker). Drinkers who brooded were the kinds of ponies with problems, and he didn’t have any problems. So he thinks, anyway.

Alabaster willed up his words and managed to put them together in coherent sentences. “Hey buddy, how’s it going?”

***

Midnight Dreary had been staring at the same drink for what felt like hours. Occasionally he would prod it, as if expecting it to do something besides look back at him. Instead, he only felt the drink gradually grow warmer. By the time Little Whisper had departed, the cider had become an unpleasant lukewarm. Completely undrinkable by most ponies’s standards.

This was completely fine by him. The drink didn’t much appealed to Midnight. However, he was pondering the conundrum of why he even purchased the drink at all. It seemed like a good idea at first; doing as the locals do by having a drink at the local saloon and acting as if he belonged. The problem with this plan, however, is that he could not bring himself to even take a sip from the sweet smelling bottle.  _So now, would I not be drawing attention for just sitting here and staring at the blasted thing?_ He massaged his temples, a migraine beginning to throb beneath the tips of his hooves.

“Hey buddy, how’s it going?”

Startled from his thoughts, Midnight had to give a brief glance around to make sure the question was directed towards him. Shifting to the voice, he found a pale stallion looking him inquisitively.  _Isn’t that the guy who punch the bar?_  Midnight Dreary studied him warily. A bottle was sitting between the pegasus’s hooves. However, Midnight noted that the fellow definitely was not just staring at it.

“Um…I am fine,” Midnight began rather awkwardly, his words feeling like rocks rolling around his mouth. “And you?”

Alabaster raised an eyebrow.

“Doing good, I guess,” He answered with shrug. “Got a drink and some shade, what more could I ask for, right?”

Midnight gave him a practiced smile which seemed to convey some amount of interest, because the tipsy patron began to ramble.

“You know,” Alabaster started again. “That drink of yours looks pretty lonely, pal. Don’t think I've ever known a traveling fella who’d ignore a perfectly good drink that he’s paid for. And you  _are_  a traveling kind of fella, aren't you?”

Midnight looked back down to the bottle before him and thought for moment. He had made a note to avoid as many unnecessary conversations as possible. Yet, he could not help but feel drawn to this stranger. There was something about him that seemed to contrast perfectly the colorful and cheery ponies he has encountered thus far. It was enough to urge Midnight to keep the conversation alive long enough to satisfy his curiosity.

“You could say that,” Midnight said. There was a bleak shadow cast across his sad, blue eyes. Alabaster’s ears twitched with interest.

“I've been drifting for as long as I can remember. ‘From one road to the next’, as I always say.” The drinking stallion took a long swallow. “Anyway, you been roaming around here any, stranger? Around Equestria I mean?”

Midnight shook his head. “No…. I haven't been here too long actually. I probably couldn't even show you up from down in this odd country.” Alabaster gave a quite ‘hear hear’ to that.

“Fancy that, though!” Alabaster exclaimed. “Who would've thunk that we’d come across another wanderer?” Midnight’s expression turned timid and his voice grew low.

“We?”

Alabaster seemed to beam in drunken pride.

“Yeah, me and Little Whisper! We've been hitting the trails together since….” His eyes lazily drifted to the left before snapping back on Midnight. “A couple of years now!” No response was met from Midnight, and the silence that followed unsettled the pale stallion. So instead of bearing it, he did his best to keep the ball rolling between the two.

“So if you’re not from Equestria, then where did you come from? I know you didn't drift in over from the Dragon Lands. I'm more than sure I'd have remembered your face on  _that_ tiny ass boat!”

Midnight felt his heart flutter at the sound of that word.  _From._  The truth is that besides some horrid nightmares, he really had no clue where he was ‘from’. His short life had been nothing but an obscene blur until just a few days ago.  _I think that farmer called it amnesia._  No matter how long Midnight brooded on the subject, he never gained anything but a massive headache and a dry mouth.

“Well,” Midnight began carefully. “I’m-”

Just as the conversation between Midnight Dreary and Alabaster was reaching its climax, the swinging doors slammed inward with a thunderous  _bang!_  Standing in the threshold of the saloon was the peach colored mare named Dusty. Her Stetson hat cast a shadow over her face like an ominous vial with only her eyes visible. Eyes that practically glowed with venomous rage. The bartender’s head poked out of the backroom.

“Dusty!” he yelled. “What in tarnation’s got you slammin my doors?”

With wide eyed wonder, Alabaster and Midnight watched as she marched up to the bar in long strides. She jumped up on a stool between the two of them.

“I just don’t believe it, Tap!” she exclaimed, slamming her hat down on the counter. “Some jackass went butting heads with my head cow and scared the rest of the herd half to death! Know she’s madder than a hornet and the rest are near ‘bout inconsolable! Might take days before I get them settled down enough to give me some milk.”

“What kind of idiot butts heads with a cow?” Tap asked on his way to the bar.

“I don’t know!” She screamed.

To say that Alabaster was beginning to feel a bit anxious would be an understatement. The temperature within the room had risen until it felt like the midday sun had decided to peek in on them.  _Me and my damnable temper_ ,Alabaster thought. He could already hear Whisper’s sigh of disbelief. The time to leave had come and Alabaster knew it. That stupid cow had probably described him to the enraged mare, but she was too blinded by fury to notice him. For now at least.

Leaning back a little, he gave a small wave to Midnight Dreary. Apparently he must have been looking for some kind of signal, because it did not even take a second to grab the dark stallion’s attention. Alabaster pointed over to the door and then back to the fuming mare between them. Midnight gave a quick nod and, within the moment, understood completely. And even though they had just became acquainted, Midnight would sooner risk the company of the friendly drunk than the raging mare.

Without raising alarm from the mare, the two fellows carefully climbed down from the stools to exit. What little noise they made fell on deaf ears. Alabaster, feeling as if he were trying to trot on eggshells, tiptoed to the exit as quickly as he could. Midnight Dreary on the other hand could have probable galloped around the saloon with a grin on his face, and neither Dusty nor Tap would have ever taken any notice of him.

“Did yer girl tell you what the varmint looked like?” Tap inquired while pulling out a complimentary bottle of cider.

“Yeah, some whitish looking fellow. Had a pink rose on his flank.”

“You mean like that guy over there?”

Dusty’s head spun like top just as Alabaster had pushed open the doors, Midnight just ahead of him.

“You!” Her roar was almost deafening. The bottles on Tap’s shelves tinkled and shivered, as if frightened. With his heart tap-dancing like a lunatic across his ribcage, Alabaster slowly turned to face the crazed mare. An apologetic smile was scrawled across his lips like a poorly written letter.

“L-look,” he stuttered, “Maybe w-we discuss this over l-like civil ponies?”

There were very few times Alabaster had ever been caught off guard. A life of adventuring and wandering requires lightning fast reflexes. Sometimes those reflexes were even the deciding factor of whether you lived or died. But Alabaster’s ladened catlike reflexes, lethargic from the bottles of cider, would never have predicted that the mare would rocket towards him at pegasus like speed with a heavy hoof aimed right at his kisser.

Alabaster would only remember a blur before his brain was sent rocking back into the wall of his skull. A moment later, his eyes opened up to find that himself sprawled out on the dusty road in which he entered town on.  _Wait a minute.._  He felt something lumpy underneath him.

“Ooowwww,” Midnight’s moaned, face down in the dirt, “I think I pulled something…” Alabaster only gurgled stupidly in response.

Dusty stood atop the saloon steps with her head held high and a champion’s smile stretched across her lips. Her hat still lay on the bar, long forgotten. Instead her mane now fell down to her shoulders in cute little ringlets. The mare’s malicious eyes surveyed the tangled heap of the stallions with vindictive glee. But it seemed it might be short lived.

“What the hay is going on here?”

Like moths drawn to a flame, a small number of nosy onlookers had begun to form a semicircle around the two. The speaker, who pushed his way through this tiny crowd, was a tall, tan earth pony with a thick beard and steely eyes that sunk deep into their sockets. He wore a thick vest and adorned upon it chest like a trophy was a star shaped badge that read “Sheriff”.

“Sheriff Rhinestone!” Dusty cleared the steps in a bound and trotted up to him, smiling fiercely.

“Arrest these two!” she yelled, pointing an accusing hoof at the stallions. He looked at her with utter disbelief.

“For what, girl!?”

Suddenly, Alabaster slowly slid to the ground in a rag doll fashion as Midnight Dreary forced himself to his hooves. Quietly dusting himself off, the dark stallion looked up to find all eyes staring carefully at him. That was when Midnight realized he hated crowds.

“Well,” Dusty began, biting her lower lip, “I don’t really know what that dark fella done... but he was sneaking out with that other one, so he can’t be up to any good!”

“And what makes you say that?” The sheriff asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Because that winged fella there trespassed on my farm and fooled with my cattle!”  
All eyes then shifted to Alabaster who was still laying in the dust, twitching like a dying insect. The last time he received such a blow was when he had spat in a diamond dogs beer, though, he might not remember that little fight after this particular incident.

“H-he did what?”

Dusty nodded vigorously. “You heard me, sheriff. He came onto my land, threatened my head bessie, and then scared the rest of the herd out of their wits. You should see them! They’re all afraid that some deranged pony is going to come at night and beat ‘em up! It’s going to be a week before any of them let me get any milk!”

Hushed whispers were exchanged between the watching townponies. The one thing that Dodge Junction prided itself on was self reliance. With many of the necessities the average pony would need being produced by intown businesses, there was little need for any imports from cities like Detrot or Manehatten. The three major establishments being the Jubilee’s cherry farm, Horace’s forge, and Dusty’s dairy farm.

“Well,” Rhinestone said thoughtfully, “Did you think to ask him why he was there in the first place?” Dusty scrunched her nose at the thought.

“Because he was drinking from the cow trough.”

The ‘EWW’ that sang forth from the crowd was almost harmonious. Whoever did not have a look of complete disgust were instead snickering.

“Oh, screw you, guys!” Everyone in the half circle of bodies started at the sound of Alabaster’s voice. He was pushing himself up on wobbly knees with a scowl painted across his face. It was not a moment later that Midnight offered a helping hoof, which Alabaster graciously accepted.

“You’d all be surprised how thirsty one could get from walking for a day and a half in this sweltering place you call home, especially if you left your damn canteens on the boat you sailed in on. Yeah, I’d like to see you make the trek from the coast with water. Do that,  _then_ come and bitch at me!”

The sheriff’s mouth dropped and his eyes went wide.

“Wait a minute. Are you fellas-”

“And you!!” Alabaster’s left leg was wrapped around Midnight’s neck, but the other pointed accusingly at Dusty. “I wouldn’t have said all that crap if that one heifer hadn’t acted like such a biddy. She’s lucky that I didn’t skin her and make some nice booties out of her hide.”

Dusty snorted like an angry bull ready to charge. She probably would have too if the sheriff had not stuck out a leg to restrain her. Dusty looked up at him as if she was ready to claw his eyes out. However, her expression quickly melted when she saw the grim look on his face.. Even Alabaster felt his own fury die down when he met the sheriff’s icy glare.

The sheriff then spoke in a low voice, “Are you sayin’ that you fellas are outlanders?”

The silence was deadly, almost as deadly as the glares from every pony around the two. Midnight felt his heart flutter when he noticed movement from the corner of his eye. Within seconds, the semicircle had become a whole circle. Alabaster heaved a sigh and squeezed his eyes shut.  _Whisper’s not going to be happy._

***

Little Whisper had always adored the night. It made her feel safe and unseen, much like a child snuggled up beneath the covers of a blanket.

As she drifted from one dimly lit streetlamp to another, she could not help but feel like she was in some elaborate game of peek-a-boo. The same eyes that had followed her and Alabaster earlier were now seemed to harmlessly glance off her, never truly registering the mares presence. The country ponies either lingered around the doorways of buildings or sat in their rocking chairs, all of them cradling their full bellies and talking about how pleasant supper had been. Occasionally a fit of laughter would ring through the sweet night air as a few farm ponies remembered an old joke.

Whisper, still incognito, studied each pony she came across with hungry and needful eyes. Her gaze only remained for a second or two before moving on to the next. Alabaster had often called this habit ‘creeping’, and had scorned her many times for doing it. But such a thing was part of her nature. How could she resist it?

Within those moments, she drank in more information about these country folks than they would have ever shared with an outsider. Whisper singled out a burgundy colored stallion with a short, cropped mane and a dusty tail who stood laughing with a group dirty, haggard looking ponies. She watched as he would occasionally give a quick lick of his chapped lips, followed with a rub from his fore hoof. It immediately became clear to her that he was a drinker. The stallion shared a few of the same tell-tale signs of the habit as Alabaster.

Whisper frowned at the thought of her closest friend’s vice. It wasn't always a problem, not from Alabaster’s perspective anyway. She didn’t mind that he spent his share of the money on something so wasteful, but it bothered her that he often teetered on the line of moderation. Whisper couldn’t count all the times she had to drag his mangy carcass away from an inn or a tavern, always reeking as if someone had tried to drown him in a rum bottle.

Little Whisper had lost herself to those worrying thoughts when a small colt came bounding up to the group of ponies she had been spying on.

“Papa!” the colt called out, panting like a dog. He must have ran the entire way there.

“There’s a fight goin’ on at the saloon! It’s Miss Dusty and some odd lookin’ fella!”  
That tore Whisper from her thoughts real quickly. The farm ponies were suddenly at attention and flocking around the colt. The burgundy pony was front and center, towering over the foal. The taller stallion was almost looking down at a tiny replica of himself.

“The sheriff’s there too, Papa,” the colt continued, shrinking under the gaze of his father. “And he seems to be really mad! He was shouting something at them when I ran off.”

The father simply nodded, regarding everything his son had said with a stoic expression.

“Run on home, son,” the father said, “And be sure to stay there.”

The colt squeaked a small ‘yes sir’ before rocketing off down the street. In his absence, the farm ponies began to chatter restlessly to one another. They almost seemed to be gauging each other's reactions.

“Oak, you don’t think that could be the same jimmy who scared the hay out of our stock earlier, do ya?” It was a mare who spoke. Her coat was a dirty brown and her auburn mane was pulled back into a tight ponytail.

The red stallion only gave her a glance before turning towards the direction of the saloon.

“There’s only one way to find out,” he said before heading off, the rest of the farm ponies quickly following in tow.

It felt as if Little Whisper’s stomach had been sent into a somersault. The duo had only been in Dodge Junction for a few short hours and there was already a lynch mob in the making. Still hidden under the cover of the growing shadows, Whisper began to retrace her steps back to the saloon; praying in silence that this won’t turn into another one of Alabaster’s frenzied fiascos.

_Please, whoever it may be watching over us, just don’t let him kill anyone!_

***

“I asked you a question, boy. Are you an outlander!” Sheriff Rhinestone’s change of demeanor was drastic. What was once a passive peacekeeper had transformed into a vindictive inquisitor. Alabaster even felt the onlookers become more than simple spectators. All of their eyes reflected the sparks of hostility rising like loaves of bread in the Sheriff’s eyes.

Alabaster met Sheriff Rhinestone’s glare with as much composure as he could muster. He was trotting on thin ice, and he knew it.  _I can smell a lynch mob in the making._

“What if I am?” Alabaster began, trying his best not to speak for Midnight either. He figured the poor guy was in enough trouble just by association.

“Unless something drastic has changed with your society, I don’t believe being an outlander infringes on any laws or anything.”

Rhinestone’s hooves dug into the ground, as if to ready himself for a charge at the pale stallion.

“I reckon it doesn’t, but you’d have to be dumb if you think I’ll just let your kind parade around in my town.” The sheriff spoke barely above a low growl. Alabaster’s brow furrowed, there was obviously something he had missed on this rapid spiral downward.

“What in the hell are you talking about?”

Rhinestone flinched, as if the word ‘hell’ physically lashed out at him.  _Great,_ Alabaster thought,  _now I have to worry about being politically correct._

“I’m talking about all the damage you outlanders have done to this country!” Rhinestone roared. “It’s because of you that Equestria was nearly destroyed!”

It took a moment for Alabaster’s mind to catch with what the sheriff was saying. Sure, he had screwed up a few ponies lives before, but he couldn’t recollect anything that would have been so astronomical that it would have earned him hate from across seas.

Then it hit him.

He remembered hearing about some crazy things happening in Equestria a few months back. Some demon had stolen all the magic in the country and threatened to take over the world. Well, that’s how the drunk ponies in taverns would tell it. Alabaster had simply thought it was a tale those homeless drunks were spreading just so that they had something to gab about over drinks.

Living in the planes of the Dragons Lands is a very isolated and lonesome existence, so it came as no surprise to Alabaster that his homelands could be completely oblivious of such a crisis. With the constant warring between dragon clans and the parties of headhunters pouring out of the Free Pony Cities, pony settlements have loads more to worry about than the troubles of the motherland.

“Look pal, I  _just_  got to Equestria. Whatever happened to you guys has nothing to do with me or my own. We passed through here to rest up and maybe look for work. However, it looks like you guys don’t much care for our company. So I promise you, we will be on the next train out of here.” To assure the lawpony, Alabaster even crossed his heart on it.

Alabaster couldn’t help but feel a little proud of himself. He was never good at the whole negotiation tactic, especially when he had done nothing wrong.  _Eat your heart out, Wisp._

“Well, you and your own can keep on moving right outta Dodge. I want you lot out of my town  _now_!”

“You can’t be serious,” Alabaster scoffed indignantly. “We don’t even have the supplies we-”

“I don’t care!” Sheriff Rhinestone advanced upon Alabaster like a stalking predator until finally their faces were inches apart.

The pale stallion quickly averted his gaze. Not because he was intimidated by the aging lawpony, which is what Rhinestone took the gesture as, but because Alabaster was afraid that he might just beat the stallion to death if their eyes should meet. His teeth ground together like sandpaper as he worked to stuff his brewing rage back into the mental lockbox he kept it in. He created this metaphoric device at Whisper’s command, both of them hoping it would help tame his erratic temper.

_Just think about Wisp. Think about how disappointed she would be if you killed another lawpony._

Rhinestone’s breath was uncomfortably warm against Alabaster’s muzzle. It smelled of cigars and apple cider.

“You’re going to put Dodge Junction to yer rear, boy, and never look back, ya hear?” Rhinestone barely spoke above a whisper. “Because if you tarry a moment longer, there’ll be heck to pay. Everypony here already wants a piece of yer hide, and I have half a mind to let them have at ya.”

Alabaster gave no rise to Rhinestone’s threat. He continued to stare at the ground apathetically, his eyes hidden by strands of mane that had dropped down.

“Are we clear, boy!” Rhinestone would not have satisfaction easily. Why should he? He lost something very valuable during the chaotic reign of Lord Tirek. Something he considered more valuable than life itself. Something he considered worth every bit of hate he felt for this young stallion.

Alabaster’s head slowly, his eyes level with Rhinestone’s once more. However, the pale stallion did not wear the defeated expression that the sheriff had been hoping for. The pale stranger’s lips had curled upward into a snarling smile that revealed a row of dagger like teeth --how easy would it be for those sharp looking chompers to tear out Rhinestone’s throat? Eyes that were once a beautiful shade of yellow had transformed into the menacing gaze of a heartless predator with slits for pupils and crimson fire for irises.

The change was almost deathly. Every ounce of rage-fueled courage Rhinestone held began to slip from his grasp like a fleeting breeze. For the first time since the great tragedies of Tirek’s bout for power, he felt true and utter fear. The creature before him was not a pony. How could he be? He was monster straight from a child’s storybook

Alabaster turned away from the now petrified Sheriff and trotted over to Midnight’s side. He quickly whispered in Midnight’s ear, “Sorry about this, mate, but we need to make tracks before these bastards bring out their pitchforks.” Midnight nodded.

“This small town atmosphere isn’t really my taste anyway.” It made Alabaster feel a little better hearing him say that. Just a little though.

And so, like two exiles fresh from the stockade, they began to walk. The ring of angered ponies parted for them, their eyes still flashing with animosity as they watched the two carefully. Only the Sheriff remained unmoving. The horror in his eyes followed the stallion’s as they departed. Alabaster could almost taste the townsfolk’s desire for violence.  _And it tastes horribly like ignorance and prejudicism._  However, if the things that happened were really as bad as the sheriff let on, then he couldn’t really blame them for being overly cautious. But still….

Alabaster and Midnight had only walked a few feet before they both looked back to find the whole congregation almost on top of their heels.

“What the hell!” Alabaster yelled back. “Mind giving us some freaking room?”

“Ya’ll will find plenty of room outside of town!” Yelled a mare wearing a white and black checkered bonnet.

Alabaster had to bite down on his tongue to keep from retorting. His cheeks flushed as he looked forward again and did his best to ignore the parade of angry ponies tailing them.  
 _Hell of a way to send a guy off._

The thought had just crossed Alabaster’s mind when a new party emerged. A dozen or so farm ponies, lead by a tall red stallion, stood dead center in the road. There would be no other way but to go through them.

“You guys are kind of blocking the road,” Alabaster said to the lead pony, his annoyance only seconds from blooming into violence. “And I don’t think this parade has any breaks. Best move before we make you move.”

The lead pony eyes flickered scrutinously over the mouthy pegasus. “You the fella fighting with Miss Dusty?” Alabaster’s mouth opened to say something, but was cut off by the sudden reemergence of that damned mare herself.

“Don’t you worry about that varmint, Oaky,” She said with a saucy flip of her mane. “The sheriff has done put him straight and sent him on his way.”

Oak gave her a polite nod before turning back to Alabaster. He now held the same hateful expression as everyone else around them.

“You better not come back stranger,” he growled. “Or you’ll have more to deal with than the law. We country folk stick by our own.” Unaffected by threats, Alabaster stood his ground.

“If you and your pals will move, then you won’t ever have to worry about seeing me in this chicken-shit town again.”

They stared each other down for a few seconds longer, both searching for any signs of give. Midnight watched the two stallions in trembling trepidation, waiting for something to happen. He was very much afraid that things were only a breath’s length away from escalating into an all out brawl. However, Oak seemed to have ignored Alabaster words entirely.

Seemingly satisfied with his mental assessment of the outsider, Oak walked over and stood with his boss, Dusty. The rest of his posse followed suit, although rather reluctantly. Even though their hearts had been dead set on a fight, they wouldn’t do anything to make Dusty or Oak look bad.

With the path cleared once more, the parade continued.

They marched onward for about a minute or so before another face appeared, this time emerging from the shadows like a bad dream. It was Little Whisper, much to Alabaster’s dismay. She came trotting to Alabaster’s left side, her ivory braids flailing all over.

“What the heck is going on?”  _Like she has to even ask,_  Alabaster thought.

“Just fall in line, Wisp,” he answered without breaking stride. “I’ll explain everything once we are clear of this damn town.”

Whisper, walking backwards to keep pace, looked from Alabaster to the herd of angry ponies that flocked behind them. Sighing, she turned and joined the trudge as well.

“I can’t believe you,” she murmured crossly. “We were only here for a few hours. I mean, this has to be new record or somethi-” She lost her words as she finally noticed the dark stallion on the other side of Alabaster. Whisper sighed again and resigned herself to silence.

Alabaster spared her a quick, pain filled glance. That age-old stab to his heart returned. Here they were, in a new country and in a new life, still getting run out of towns. All he wanted to do was provide the two of them with some kind of security, something neither of them have ever really had. However, it seemed like life had its own agenda for the battered wayfarers.

_Yep, living in Equestria is definitely going to suck._


	2. Another Day

Dodge Junction was a good quarter mile behind the trio before the party finally stopped. Little Whisper, a couple of steps ahead of Alabaster and Midnight Dreary, spun around and faced the two. Her eyes were alight with a fury that seemed not quite her own.

“Care to explain what that was all-” The words, along with her angry expression, died like an extinguished flame.

Alabaster was bent forward with his chest pressed close to the dusty ground and his flank raised high on outstretched hind legs, presenting a rather  _generous_  view to the town of Dodge Junction. Then, as if he wasn’t acting crude enough, he gave his flank a quick wiggle followed with a smack from a free hoof.

“That’s right, you country yokels!” Alabaster yelled. “Get a good look! Get a good luck, and PUCKER UP!”  
He gave a few more jiggles before he felt satisfied with his little ‘tantrum’ and pushed himself back up on all fours. The pale stallion showed not an ounce of shame or guilt as he faced his companions, only untarnished composure.

“Did you say something, Whisper?” The silence that preceded was sharp and painful as they stared at each other; Alabaster with a raised eyebrow and Whisper with a scowl. Midnight’s gaze began to lift skyward as his cheeks turned a shade of crimson.

“Are you kidding me?” she barked. “What the heck, Al!” Alabaster grinned sheepishly.

“I know I have a weird way of expressing myself, but trust me when I say that it was completely called for.” Whisper face-hoofed.

“Dang it, Al,” she sighed. “I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about how we just got run out of another town!”

Alabaster’s grin slowly dropped. Whisper hardly ever got mad. Most of the times when he screwed up, she would just smile that damned smile and tell him that it was ‘all good’. It was the smile that really drove the guilt home. Almost like a loving scold, if such a thing really exists.

“Okay,” he began. “Do you remember that snobby cow from earlier today; the one who tried to start something with me over drinking their water?” Whisper nodded.

“Well, it turns out that she is the lead Bessie for some neurotic dairy farmer-” Alabaster then told Little Whisper his side of the whole ordeal, making sure to leave out as little as possible. From the violence-bound mare named Dusty, to the point where Sheriff Rhinestone accused all outlanders of being the bane of the nation and ordering them out of Dodge Junction. However, he did leave out the part where he scared the sheriff witless. He figured that bit might not work in his favor.

The story only took a couple of minutes to tell. Little Whisper listened in mute attendance, almost appearing to mentally measure every word he said like grains of sand on a scale. Once he finished, the silence that followed was almost stifling. Whisper’s brow furrowed as her gaze fell from Alabaster. She seemed to be studying her dirty and dusty hooves, but in truth, a torrent of thoughts were swirling around behind those soft eyes of hers.

“So, we weren’t thrown out because of what happened with the cows?” she asked herself, a bit bemused. “But because we were outlanders?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I guess it would have been better if we had just kept walking.”

“Al, do you think everyone in Equestria will be like that? That they will run us off like some kind of mangy stray?” Whisper’s eyes were beginning to brim with tears. It was hard enough that they were unwanted in the Dragon Land; now they would almost be akin to fugitives.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Alabaster dashed to her side, wrapped his leg around her neck. “You’re getting WAY ahead of yourself, Wisp. We may have just gotten a bad first impression, that’s all!”

“I hope you're right,” she sniffled, wiping her eyes before she could cry. Whisper was beginning to feel a little better until she felt him shrug.

“Even if I’m wrong, it won’t make much of a difference. It’s not like we can just get a refund on our tickets and sail back, not that I would if I could.”

“Gee, thanks, Al.” Whisper frowned. “You sure know what to say to lift a mare’s spirits.”

Alabaster had no response. Certainties were not something they could afford, and both were well aware of this. However, that did nothing to settle the knot that was forming in Whisper’s gut. The duo had not only traded away their tired past lives, but also most of the bits they had managed to scrounge together the last few months. What was left in their saddlebags would only carry them so far.

Little Whisper and Alabaster quietly brooded together; their only solace was the warmth of their embrace. To them the silence was like a cool rain bringing a brief reprieve from the summer heat. Midnight Dreary, however, found the calm to be stifling. Watching the two friends in each other’s grasp made him feel weird, like a stranger on the outside looking in. He was beginning to shrink away when Whisper finally noticed the odd stallion.

“I’m terribly sorry!” she exclaimed, pulling free from Alabaster. “With all of this excitement I didn’t even notice you. You must think we’re horribly rude.”

Midnight shook his head and gave her an awkward smile. “It’s completely fine. Things did seem to get a bit heated back there, so there’s no harm done.”

Even though Little Whisper returned his smile, she couldn’t help but eye him carefully. She wasn’t sure what qualified as an average-looking pony in Equestria, but she had the notion that the black stallion didn’t qualify as one. Partly because of his sharp—almost feminine—features, which Little Whisper actually found rather attractive. The last odd bit was the completely blank spot on the sides of his flanks. She pondered it only for a second.

“My name is Little Whisper, by the way,” she said warmly. “And I’m guessing you met Al already?”

“Call me Alabaster,” the pale pony interrupted. “Only Wisp here gets to call me Al.” There was no hostility in his words, only a hint of playfulness. Midnight simply nodded in return.

“I am Midnight Dreary. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Little Whisper’s smile stretched a bit wider as she weighed his name in her head. Alabaster had been her only companion through most her travels, and though she loved the poor bloke like a brother, his company could at times be a bit strenuous—especially if it was a day where his temper got the best of him.

However, this fellow seemed to be made of completely different material than Alabaster. From the way he spoke and composed himself, Whisper could tell that Midnight was of a calm and gentle nature.

What Little Whisper failed to realize was that she had been “creeping” again. An uncomfortable silence had stretched on for a few seconds as she continued to measure the pony up. Whisper’s gaze felt like a spotlight to Midnight. He gave a fidgety glance to Alabaster, almost pleading for him to do something.

“All right,” Alabaster began. “Maybe we could resume this awkward silence a little farther away from the town that wanted to see us beaten to a pulp? I know that would make me feel better.” Bright crimson roses bloomed upon Whisper’s cheeks as her eyes shot around wildly, looking for someplace to focus on except for the two stallions.

“Y-yeah, that does sound smart, doesn’t it?” She didn’t wait for an answer; instead she started into a brisk trot. Alabaster and Midnight stared after her for a moment, one with an expression of confusion and the other with annoyance.

_Crazy mare,_  Alabaster thought as he rushed to catch up with her.  _At least she isn’t mad at me or anything. Well, not yet anyway. It's never too late to piss someone off..._  
Midnight Dreary followed close behind him, although with seemingly less vigor. He still didn’t know what to make of this whole predicament, but he assumed that things could be worse. Maybe if he was lucky, the two would let him tag along. The thought of traversing the arid countryside without either direction or company did not appeal to him at all. Besides, traveling with them might help joggle something in his cloudy memory.

***

The lights of Dodge Junction had become a twinkle on the dark horizon. The light from the moon shone down in precious rays just bright enough that the trio could make out the map of Equestria that lay stretched out before them.

“So that’s where we’re going?” Alabaster asked, his eyes squinting to better see the names of the surrounding towns. “Appleloosa? Damn these Equestrians and their weird names. Maybe this is why no one respects them in the Dragon Lands.” Whisper looked up at him with a half-smile.

“And the names of places back there were so much better? Ashe-town, Smokeburge, Skull Mountain—or my favorite—Fried Hide Crossing.” Alabaster chuckled at that.

“I guess when you put it that way, Appleloosa doesn’t sound too bad. At least it’s safe to assume they will have some of that apple cider stuff.”

Alabaster paused for a moment at the thought of a nice cold drink. The pale stallion, who had the rather strange ability of burning alcohol off rather quickly, was already coming down from his buzz and preparing for another “take off”.

“That cider is a piss poor comparison to rum, but it sure as heck will do nicely.”

Little Whisper rolled her eyes as she folded up the map and set it back in her saddle bag.

“It’s going to be close to a day’s journey if we keep up a good pace,” she said with a [click] from her saddle’s buckle. Alabaster scratched his chin with the tip of his hoof as he began adding figures up in his head.

“It’s going to be rough,” he concluded, “especially since we don’t have any blasted canteens.”

Midnight’s ears perked at this. It seemed the opportunity to find his way into their group without coming right out and asking had finally presented itself.

“If it helps, I have a canteen on me that we could share…” Alabaster and Whisper could have received whiplash for how quickly their gazes shot to Midnight. They looked as if they had just noticed him for the first time.

“A full canteen?” Alabaster asked. Midnight nodded a bit timidly.

“Well hell, we’ve made do with worse than that before,” the pale stallion said with a grin. “If I was a dumb pony, I’d say that you being run out with us was a good thing!”

“Speaking of which, how were you involved with that mess exactly?” Little Whisper asked sympathetically. It ate at her that they had caused someone who they had just met so much trouble, especially since it was a particularly handsome someone.

Midnight was hesitant to respond. Everything had happened so fast, it almost seemed like a blur to think back upon it.

“Well,” Alabaster interjected, “it was kind of a guilty by association ordeal, Wisp. They all saw him with me and assumed he was traveling with us…” He paused for a moment.

“Sorry about that, by the way,” he added. “You might have been able to skirt through that blasted town if we hadn’t ran into each other.” Alabaster’s apology was met with a shrug.

“There was no guarantee of that. We all saw how paranoid they were. There’s a good chance someone else would have singled me out eventually. Besides, it will be nice to finally have some direction,” Midnight concluded thoughtfully.

Midnight’s eyes then began to glaze over for a second as he thought about his life as a whole. It didn’t take too long since his memory only went back to a few days earlier.

Little Whisper and Alabaster watched him inquisitively, wondering if he actually heard what he just said.

“Hmmmm, there’s definitely a story there. I can smell it.” As if to punctuate the remark, Alabaster flared his nostrils and sniffed loudly.

“What? No!” Midnight protested innocently. “I was just thinking aloud!”

“No use in denying it. I’ve been in and out of taverns for most of my life. And if all that time around drunken travelers and bards taught me anything, it’s how to pick out a pony with a juicy story. It’s almost like a sixth sense.”

“He’s not lying,” Whisper chirped in. “Give Al enough time and alcohol, and he’ll fish out something worth talking about… over and over again...” Alabaster gave an annoyed flick of his tail at her flank.

“Seriously though, out with it. I haven’t heard anything interesting in a while!”

Little Whisper usually didn’t mind Alabaster’s banter, but she saw the unease painted across Midnight’s face. It was obvious to her that this was a pony who stayed a bit on the timid side. Not necessarily a bad thing in all honesty. Whisper gave him a subtle kick in the leg.

“Ouch!” Alabaster hopped back, wings flaring out. “What was that for?”

“You’re not making a good impression,” she muttered.

“Oh? Sorry, I must have gotten carried away.” He laughed, hoping it would relieve how awkward he suddenly felt.

“It is completely fine,” Midnight assured him, showing a weak smile to prove it. “It’s just… I don’t…” Words eluded Midnight like a shadow leaping from a flame. Finally, he steadied himself and began again.

“I don’t think either of you two would believe me if I told you.”

Whisper and Alabaster seemed like nice ponies, and Midnight could see himself coming to like them. Not only that, he wanted to talk about his  _condition_. Maybe sharing it would help him feel less anxious about everything.

However, he did his best not to remain too hopeful. Nothing was certain to him, and he doubted if it ever would be.

The duo glanced at each other before sharing a knowing smile. The dark stallion felt his heart quicken.

“D-did I say something funny?” Midnight asked, almost in hysteria.

“No, it’s nothing like that,” Alabaster said good-heartedly. “Really more of an inside joke between the two of us.” Midnight raised an eyebrow, hoping that they would fill him in on whatever had just transpired.

Whisper smiled. “Look, just trust us when we say that there isn’t really anything too farfetched for us to believe in. Okay?”

Midnight nodded, not sure he could believe her or not.  _Oh well,_  he thought.  _It’s not like I have much to lose._  It took a few moments to compose his thoughts, and only a little longer to tell his narrative. He began with how he woke up on some rock farm, not too far away, with no idea who he was or what he was supposed to be doing. That seemed like a good enough place to start.

The family who owned the farm, a quirky couple with a few daughters, had apparently found him sprawled out in the dirt on that scorching afternoon. It had given them quite the scare, for most of them thought that poor Midnight Dreary was likely a sun-stroked desperado that had been migrating from the north. If it wasn’t for the big heart and persuasive tongue of the Mother, then Midnight probably would have been food for the buzzards. However, they learned quickly how harmless he was once he awoke.

For about three weeks the days seemed to roll by like tear drops. He was almost in a constant state of gloom and confusion, which could be quite expected of one who had been cast aside like a piece from a jigsaw puzzle. It was during the fourth week when he finally found the desire to venture forth into Equestria, maybe in the hopes of finding some kind of clue as to who he was.

The family was all too willing to help. Apparently the couple was quite sympathetic since they had a daughter who had wandered out into the world much like himself, though he seriously believed that she struck out on much better terms. Midnight rode with the father into Dodge Junction one early morning on a wagon that would later be filled with stock and supplies for the farm. The strange and quirky family left him with a parting gift; a canteen, a few loaves of bread, and enough money to make sure he wouldn’t go hungry for a bit. Midnight did not ask for more, nor did he want to. They had done enough for him already.

Midnight felt awkward recounting the tale, but he could almost feel a weight lift from his shoulders.

“Amnesia? That’s what you thought we wouldn’t believe?” Midnight blinked at Alabaster’s response.

“Yeah,” Whisper said. “That isn’t really unbelievable, Midnight.”

“Hell, I remember a time back in Ashe-town when I knocked this one guy out. When he came to, he had forgotten everything that had happened in the last few hours. The bastard didn’t even remember meeting me!” Alabaster laughed as he thought back on that particular gem. He had bought the guy a cold one and convinced him that they were cousins. Good times.

“Anyway,” Whisper sighed. “What I’m curious about is how do you have a name if you couldn’t remember who you are?”

“One of the farmer’s daughters,” he answered with a small smile. “She named me that. She said that I looked like some character that was illustrated in a book of folk stories.”

The mare nodded, one question answered, but quickly followed up with another.

“What about your cognitive abilities? You don’t have any problems with that?”

Midnight shook his head.

“No, I am able to speak and think just fine. I even know how to read and write. The only thing that’s missing is who I am.”

She contemplated this for a few seconds, thinking back upon when she used to accompany a medicine mare back in the Dragon Lands. They had seen many odd cases together, but nothing quite like what Midnight described.

“And that’s all there is? Nothing else that might be strange?”

“Not at all,” Midnight lied.

There were in fact some things that he thought would be better left unsaid. Like the weird dreams and the waking visions.

_-and the voices-_

Midnight decided to write them off as a few odd quirks, mainly because he didn’t want to frighten away two possible companions.

“What do you think about that, Al?” Whisper asked with a sideways glance. Alabaster frowned and gave a shrug.

“What the hell would it matter? I’m neither a doctor nor a counselor. Last time I checked, I’m better at causing problems than solving them… sorry, pal,” he added quickly with an earnest smile.

The dark stallion nodded, understanding that Alabaster meant no harm. However, his posture seemed to droop in a sulky matter, much like a wilting flower. It wasn’t out of sadness that he did this, but instead it was a habit for whenever begun to think deeply. A rather bad one in fact, as it was easy for others around him to mistake the gesture. Just like Whisper and Alabaster at that very moment.

Her eyes flashed pleadingly to Alabaster, begging him to say something. His hoof pressed lightly on his temple and he made sure to think hard this time about what he was to say.

“Look, Midnight,” he paused. “It was Midnight right? I’m not getting that wrong?”

There was a small nod from the other stallion before softly adding, “Midnight Dreary.”

“Oh, that’s right. Look, don’t get too down about it. There’s no use in getting upset about something that you can’t change. And believe me, there’s not a lot you will be able to change out here in the middle of nowhere-”

Midnight looked up and met Alabaster’s gaze. There was something very strange about the stallion that Alabaster couldn’t understand. It wasn’t anything bad, or he didn’t think it was at least.

“-Why don’t you put off giving this whole ordeal some thought until we get to Appaloosa, huh? Then you can do all the pondering you want on a nice, comfy bed.”

“You mean,”—Midnight’s eyes began to widen—“you don’t mind me traveling with you two?”

“Of course not!” Alabaster looked at him as he had just grown a third eyeball. “Why would I care about you coming with us?” A shrug was all Midnight could answer with.

“Besides,” Alabaster continued, “it’s the least we could do since it’s kind of our fault you’re out here.”

_And because you’re the only guy within the immediate area that has water to share._

That part was better left within Alabaster’s mind. It would have earned a good thump to the back of the head from Whisper.

For what may have been the first time since he departed from the rock farm, the edges of Midnight’s mouth lifted into a genuine smile. Sweet relief would have been a good start to describe the sensation that he was feeling.

This did not go unnoticed by Little Whisper. She saw the earnestness in his face and felt a surging wave of fondness for the dark pony. Midnight had managed to tug upon the strings of her heart, for Whisper and Alabaster both had been where he was now, in one way or another.

Although she wasn’t sure what lay ahead for any of them, she found herself looking forward with renewed enthusiasm. Whisper quickly reasoned this was because she had made a new friend, which wasn’t something that happened every day.

With overly long introductions out of the way, Alabaster suggested that they move on ahead for a bit to set up camp for the night. The idea of trudging through the night in that dusty countryside when they were already tired sounded atrocious. Besides, sleep was one of the few things free in the world. Why not enjoy it?

Little Whisper and Midnight Dreary thought it was a good notion as well and agreed quite eagerly.

***

The trio’s “camp” consisted of three bedrolls stretched out on the ground. It wasn’t much, but it sure did beat nothing. There were some nights where Alabaster and Whisper had nothing, and they were quite glad that wasn’t the case anymore.

Midnight divvied some of the water in his canteen to Alabaster, but was quite surprised when Whisper turned the offer down.

“Are you sure?” Midnight asked. “You said that you lost your canteens earlier. If you have been traveling all day in the heat without them, then you should really have something to drink.” He held out the canteen as if to punctuate his point.

Whisper felt touched by his concern, but she also knew that they were now treading down a slippery slope. This was a roadblock that she had danced around many times. However, that didn’t make it easier.

“I guess you’re right,” she conceded, catching Alabaster throwing a glance their way as he straightened his bedroll. “I just wanted to make sure we had enough to last tomorrow.”

“It’ll be fine. Besides, you said it will only take half a day. We should have enough if we are careful.” Midnight was very adamant that she have something to drink. He didn’t want either of his new companions becoming dehydrated on the coming trek.

Whisper smiled weakly as she took the canteen from him and brought it up to her lips. It was a quick swig, but it would look real enough. She used her tongue to stop up the hole and keep any of the water from entering her mouth.

The water was foul to her, almost like what she thought sulfur should taste like. It took every bit of willpower to keep herself from gagging, but nonetheless, she completed the façade with a smile on her face.

“Thank you,” she beamed. “Sometimes I forget I’m just as much pony as everyone else.” Midnight nodded and replaced the canteen back into his saddle. This earned a little sigh of relief from Alabaster that went unnoticed by the other two.

_That’s my girl._

It didn’t take them too much longer to settle down after that. The day behind them, along with the journey ahead, weighed down upon the trio like lead weight. They surely didn’t need any help falling asleep. Well, Whisper and Alabaster didn’t.

Midnight was just about to crawl within the depths of his bedroll, when something Whisper was doing caught his eye. She was already snuggled into her own bedroll, but had her hoof buried into the saddlebag that lay next to her.

He almost asked her what she was looking for when she withdrew a battered-looking stuffed pony. A wide grin tipped the sides of her mouth as she brought the plush toy into what looked like a monstrous bear hug.

“You carry a toy with you?” Midnight asked. Whisper looked up to him, still wearing her smile, and nodded.

“His name is Mr. Smiles! I’ve had him since I was just a little filly.” Whisper paused to nuzzle the toy affectionately.

“Mr. Smiles here has watched over me while I slept for as long as I can remember, always protecting me from the dark!” Midnight raised an eyebrow.

“Why do you call him Mr. Smiles?” Whisper’s grin only grew that much more. She lifted him up for Midnight to see better. Mr. Smiles had a faded green coat, a light purple mane, two button eyes, and a smile stitched across his muzzle.

“Because no matter how many parts of him I’ve had to replace and get repaired, never once have I had to fix his smile!”

“Come on, guys!” Alabaster groaned from his roll. “I’m trying to sleep here!” Midnight shared Whisper’s smile for a moment before turning away to slide between the folds of his bedroll.

The party settled down fairly quickly. In only a few minutes, Alabaster’s breathing would become heavy as sleep took him in a firm grasp. Little Whisper would fidget for a bit, turning over a few times to get comfortable. Eventually sleep would seize her next with her face buried into Mr. Smiles’ soft mane.

However, as Alabaster and Whisper snoozed, Midnight laid wide-eyed and awake. Sleep would not come for him so easily... it never did. Instead he watched as the shadows of the night crept lazily across the dry earth, like fingers that were stretching outward to caress him.

Midnight screwed his eyes shut and did his best to think of something else. This did nothing to hinder what was to come.  
 _The voices._

The stallion’s breaths became shallow as the shadows began to whisper quietly. At first they spoke in voices that he didn’t quite recognize. Their words were rushed in anger and were hard to understand. Eventually one voice flittered through the throng that seemed to stand apart from the rest.

_“Those dang foreign bastards think they can just parade about like they own the place, scarin’ the heck out of anypony as they so please. That one fella is lucky that the Sheriff sent ‘em out before I could get my hooves on him…”_

Midnight’s heart skipped a beat as he recognized that the voice belonged to the mare that attacked Alabaster. There was a muffled response to the mare that Midnight couldn’t quite make out.

_“Oh, I don’t know, Oak. I guess I’m just a little worked up…. What?_  She paused for moment before laughing.  _Hmmm, that might make me feel better. Best keep it down though, we don’t want the others thinkin’ I’m soft on ya!”_

A few brief moments later there was a fit of giggles and an odd slurping. Midnight’s cheeks reddened under his dark fur.

_PLEASE STOP, PLEASE STOP, PLEASE STOP, PLEASE STOP,_  reverberated within his mind like an explosion. The carnal sounds, along with the other voices, slowly began to ebb away like a dying echo. Soon things were quiet for him once more.

However, Midnight knew that they were not gone. Not completely at least. He knew that the voices laid in wait, waiting for him to will them back. If he could find a way to describe the strange experience, he would say it was like using the radio that was on the rock farm. The shadows seemed to act like a transistor of sorts, picking up all sorts of conversations and secrets to share with him.

Midnight remembered sitting up most of the night, listening to the farmer’s daughters chatting and talking about ponies from the next town over. He didn’t really think much of it at the time; in fact he rather enjoyed it at first. Almost as if he was sitting in on the conversation too. That quickly changed, however, when they started talking about stallions… Among other things. From that point on, Midnight did his best to distance himself from the strange ability. It worked for the most part. He never heard anything from the shadows during the day, though he never really tried to listen out for them. It’s at night when they came the strongest. Unfortunately, he couldn't always just shoo them away like he did.

Midnight buried himself deeper into the cover of his bedroll, relishing the silence.

“That’s right…” Alabaster muttered in his sleep. “Make it a double… oh yeah… just leave the bottle...”

Well, it was silent enough for him. Midnight would brood upon his situation for only a little longer. Eventually, he too would succumb to exhaustion.


	3. From Dawn Till Dusk

Morning came early for Midnight Drearier, and it came in the form of a heated discussion.

"I'm telling you, Wisp, there won't be one this far south! Maybe we'll run into one when we start making our way towards Manehattan, but I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you." Alabaster's voice was hoarse, and it pained him to talk. The dry desert air had been cruel to him.

"All right," Whisper sighed, sounding far better than her friend did, “but you have to promise me that we'll stop by one when we finally make it to the big city. I've always wanted to go to a coffee shop!"

"Er... fine," he grumbled. “But I still don’t understand why you want to go to a stupid coffee shop.”

Midnight's eyes slowly opened to the sound of his newfound company. The first thing he noticed was that the sky was still dark. Stars shone like needle-sized holes on a black canvas. It must have been an hour until sunrise. The second thing Midnight noticed was how his aching muscles screamed in anguish. For a split second, he wondered if that angry mob from Dodge Junction had returned and trampled him in his sleep.

"Rise and shine, what's your name!" Alabaster called when he noticed Midnight stirring. "We have a long day ahead of us!"

Whisper shot him a dirty look as she stuffed her bedroll back in her saddlebag.

"Don't be rude, Al. His name is Midnight Dreary." Alabaster rolled his eyes.

"Whatever you say, just get moving! We need to start out before daylight."

Midnight wiped away the sleep from his crusted eyes and slowly pulled himself from the embrace of his bedroll. He couldn't help groaning as his legs and thighs throbbed painfully.

"What's the problem, Midnight Weary?" Alabaster asked, giving him a once over. The dark stallion took a shaky breath before answering.

"No problem, I'm just sore. It feels like I slept in front of a stampede." The way he was feeling, Midnight began to wonder if that was really the case.

Alabaster smiled in silent understanding. There had been many mornings where he had awoken in quite the same manner. It takes a hell of a pony to get used to sleeping on the cold hard ground, bedroll or no.

"Don't worry about it," he said warmly. "You start walking for a bit and you'll feel right as rain."

Midnight sighed, already dreading what lay ahead. The day was shaping up to be quite the drag. However, he tried not to give any sign of his ill disposition, and went about rolling up his bedroll with as much optimism as he could muster.

Within five minutes or so, the party was saddled up and ready to roll.

"All right, skipper," Alabaster addressed Whisper, “Do we have our heading?" Whisper beamed with an ungodly amount of enthusiasm.

"Yes sir! We be heading thatta way!" To Alabaster's satisfaction, she pointed in the complete opposite direction of Dodge Junction.

"Great," he sighed. "Well, let's get to it then."

***

Time crept by at a snail's pace for the travelers, and it was only marked by the drastic changes in the desert around them. The night sky slowly began to melt away, giving way to the crimson shades of dawn. Even the cool temperature started to rise as the sun made its ascension.

Alabaster shuddered as he watched the world around him, preparing for the day ahead. It wouldn't be long until the heat would be hot enough to boil blood.

_Well,_  he thought hopefully,  _at least I don't have black fur._

As if to confirm his thoughts, he glanced down at his own pale coat and then over to Midnight Dreary. He seemed fine now, but how would he stack up when the heat comes?

_I seriously hope this greenhorn doesn't pass out on us. Today is going to be hell enough without me having to carry his ass._

Unbeknownst to Alabaster, he wasn't the only one thinking about Midnight. Little Whisper peeked around Alabaster's head every few minutes and studied Midnight curiously. However, she wasn't worrying about him keeling over. Whisper's head swam with numerous questions that she almost ached to ask. It wasn’t every day that someone else traveled with them.

The early morning sky had turned into a blazing shade of gold when the silence between the three was finally broken.

"So Midnight," Whisper began, trying her best to contain herself. She absolutely loved getting to know people. "How did you get your name? You said that you were named after a storybook character, right? Did you get the chance to read that story?"

When Midnight didn't respond, Whisper started to wonder if she had said something that offended.

"No, I didn’t," he answered softly, much to Whisper's relief. “She wanted to show it to me, but the book had been lost a long time ago when she was a foal."

Whisper nodded slowly and remained silent for a while after that. No doubt biding her time until asking her next question. She definitely didn't want to ask him too much at once.

"Wait, you never read the story that you’re named after?" Alabaster chimed in. Midnight glanced at him before nodding his head.

"You should be careful then, my friend. This Midnight Dreary character could be quite the bad guy! For all you know, he's a rapist-  **argh**!" Alabaster stumbled sideways a few steps as Whisper's hoof left an imprint on his white fur.

"What the hell did you hit me for!" he hissed.

"Because you're teasing him, Al!"

"Oh come on, you know I'm right! That girl could have easily named him after some Equestrian serial killer. I’m doing him a favor!"

Whisper squinted angrily at him, but he simply regarded her with a smirk. A smirk that quickly vanished once he noticed that she was readying herself to take another jab at him.

"Damn it, Wisp, you better stop-  **ARGH**! That freakin hurts!" The desert air was filled with Alabaster's shrieks as the two ponies begin to tangle with each other.

What a great way to start the day.

***

The sun's shining face beamed down upon the barren land, sending out waves of heat that made the dry desert air feel like the inside of an oven. It was a scene that Alabaster knew quite well, mainly because it was the same kind of hellish condition he faced just the day before. The only difference today was that now he nursed a few bruises on his side.

Giving his stomach a delicate rub, Alabaster gave Whisper the stink eye as they pushed on. Whether she didn't notice or simply didn't acknowledge it was up for debate. She hummed away with a giant smile across her face, seemingly oblivious to the malevolent thoughts that were rattling around in Alabaster's thick skull.

Midnight observed all of this with a reserved smile. It was pretty obvious that the two were close. He concluded that their relationship must be one that had been built upon years of struggling and surviving together. The more Midnight thought about this, the more he realized just how alone he was in this short life of his. He held on loosely to the hope that there was someone out there that might have known who he was, maybe even in the town they were headed to now, but Midnight found it very hard to be optimistic while caught within the grasp of the blistering desert heat.

Almost two hours passed before the silence between the trio would be broken again.

"How long have the two of you known each other?" Midnight asked, feeling a tad awkward as he did so. A part of him wondered if there was some kind of protocol to follow when getting to know someone. It would sure make him feel better if there was such a thing.

Alabaster tapped his chin with the tip of his hoof, digging deep within the recesses of his memory.

"Well, let me think," he said, more to himself than anyone else. "I had just been chased out of the Cross Bend trading camp, so I was headed into the Eastern Swamplands to lay low for a while—that's where I bumped into Whisper.... I'd have to say that was about three years ago. So yeah, three years now." Whisper's pleasant demeanor deflated like a dying balloon.

"It's four years, Al," she corrected with a frown. "We met each other four years ago." Alabaster looked at her as if she had just grown a third eyeball.

"Are you sure about that, Wisp? I could've sworn that-"

"Yes, I'm sure," she persisted. Whisper didn't know why, but she felt very aggravated at the fact that Alabaster would mistake something as important as that.

"Now wait a minute," Alabaster continued, much to Whisper's distress. "I need a little help here, because that means I'm missing a year."

"Do you really find it that surprising, Al? You spend all of your free time drinking. There's probably more gaps in your memory then there are potholes in Trading Route Six!"

"But a whole damn year!?"

"Four years, huh?" Alabaster and Whisper were snapped to their sense at the sound of Midnight's voice. "I guess I was thinking that the two of you had known each other a lot longer than that, the way you two seem so comfortable around each other."

Alabaster thought for a moment on that, and began to snicker.

“Well, sometimes it does feel longer than that. Don’t it, Wisp?” Whisper rolled her eyes, but quickly smiled.

“Look who’s talking,” she jested. “It gets pretty tiring when your best friend picks a fight in every barroom from here to the next country over!”

Alabaster laughed and swatted at her with his wing. Though Midnight smiled along with them, the expression in his eyes was almost envious. He tried his best to push back the jealously that welled up, for he knew it would not help him at all. However, an idea did dawn on him.

Inky, the little filly that saw fit to name him, had been borderline obsessed with fiction, especially adventure stories and epics. Midnight remembered how she went on and on about the current book she was reading (it was something along the lines of ‘Daring Do and the Forgotten Princess’). She had said that her favorite part of the book so far was when the main character, Daring Do, was sitting around a campfire with fellow travelers and telling them about all the spectacular things she had been through. She said that she liked it so much because it brought Daring Do closer to the other key characters in the story. Perhaps if he got Alabaster and Little Whisper to talk more about themselves, he wouldn’t feel so apprehensive around them.  _Worth a shot,_  he thought nervously.  _I at least want to feel like I can trust them._

“After traveling together for so long, I bet the two of you have quite the collection of stories, right?”

His question hung in the air for a few seconds before it received an answer. Whisper studied Alabaster, waiting to see how he would respond, while Alabaster bit his bottom lip as he thought. For second or two, Midnight thought he had done something wrong.  _Maybe I should have just let the idea slide._

“Stories,” the white stallion echoed, the hesitation on his face suddenly melting away into a smile. “Of course! With all the trouble that we find, you better believe it!” That helped to put Midnight to ease, but not his curiosity.

“Maybe you could tell a few then?” He asked politely. “It would probably help pass the time, and maybe even make this blasted heat more bearable.” As if to illustrate his point, a thick bead of sweat rolled right into his left eye. While Midnight cursed and rubbed at his stinging eye, Whisper stared a little harder at Alabaster.

“Yeah, Al,” she said with a hint of uncertainty. “Why not regale us a few tales of our glorious misadventures?” Alabaster glanced over and gave her a very toothy grin.

“Now don’t you worry your pretty little head, Wisp. I won’t tell anything too  _embarrassing_.”

Midnight watched them inquisitively, not sure if there was something significant about the weird way they were looking at each other. It was almost as if they were trying to hide something. However, with a quick shake of his head, he put the thought out of his mind. If there was something that they didn’t want to talk about, then it wasn’t his place to pry. However, he would not soon forget it.

“But anyway.” Alabaster looked back to Midnight, smiling. “Yeah, I guess telling a few stories wouldn’t hurt.”

Midnight nodded and stared at Alabaster eagerly. Biting his lower lip again, the stallion mulled over the last few years of his life, trying to remember his and Whisper’s more memorable exploits. In truth, it really shouldn’t have taken him so long. However, the heat made it rather hard to concentrate. Finally, after a minute or two, Alabaster was able to extract something from his thick head.

“All right, here’s a story for you, Twilight-”

“Midnight,” Whisper sighed.

“Whatever. So, this happened about a year ago… I think it was a year… anyway, that’s not important. But me and Whisper here are heading to a little traders’ post called Hobbletin. As we’re heading there, we kind of run into a snag-”

Thus began a vicious cycle. Alabaster had forgotten how much he relished any opportunity to talk about the things he’d seen and done. That may be because the only person he’d ever shared them with is Little Whisper, and they already knew everything about each other. It also helped that Midnight was an extremely good listener. He never said a word during Alabaster’s narration, save for the occasional question, and smiled politely whenever Alabaster would break out into laughter at a particularly funny part. Then again, that may be because Alabaster never really left room for another person when he spoke.

Once he finished one story, Alabaster would automatically be reminded of another one that was “even better!” Just as Midnight had said, time went by much faster. The hours were filled with tales of massive barroom brawls, angry landlords, vindictive poachers, and one overly curious transgender mare. Even the heat was kept at bay from Midnight’s and Alabaster’s minds.

However, out of all the stories that Alabaster would tell, he wouldn’t bring up the one that Midnight wanted to hear the most: how he and Little Whisper had met. A few times, when Alabaster was catching a quick breather, the dark stallion had come close to straight out asking about it. But every time he came close, he felt his courage fail him.

Eventually, he decided to just put the thought out of his mind. It wouldn’t really matter much once they got to Appleloosa. Alabaster and Whisper would probably be going their separate ways. For now, Midnight enjoyed their company, and that was enough for him.

***

The sun began nesting upon the western horizon as the day readied itself for a close. The long shadows that it cast made Appleloosa appear sleepy, as if it too was getting ready to make bed for the night.

Even though Appleloosa was very much a farm-oriented town like Dodge Junction, the two differed from each other for many reasons, the first reason being that Appleloosa was quite a bit bigger. Acres upon acres of tall apple trees stretched out to meet the setting sun. The supple farmland helped support a rather booming community that was double the size of Dodge Junction. The second reason was that Dodge Junction didn’t have a pony like Braeburn to greet all of their newcomers.

The enthusiastic farm pony grinned widely at the trio who had just been wandering into Appleloosa’s outskirts from the barren desert out beyond.

“Well howdy there, partners!” Braeburn beamed. “My name’s Braeburn, and welcome to Appleloosa-”

“Yeah, Braeburn,” Alabaster croaked, sweat gleaming down his matted fur. “Shut the hell up and get out of our way, please.” The words struck like a punch to the face, turning Braeburn’s smile completely upside down as the trio pushed past him.

“That wasn’t very nice, Al,” Little Whisper murmured, giving a cautious glance back to the shell shocked cow-pony. He was just staring after them, mouth agape.

“I did say please, didn’t I?” Alabaster was too tired and too irritated to add his usual sarcasm. He glanced over to his left, and saw Midnight staring blankly at his hooves as he walked. The dark stallion made a heavy wheezing sound that must have been his pathetic way of breathing.

“Yo, Midnight.” the sound of Alabaster’s voice stirred Midnight from his groggy stupor. “You gonna be okay there?”

“I’m going to be sick,” Midnight responded meekly, his gaze never lifting. Little Whisper, who seemed completely unfazed by the hell they had just left, peered over at her new friend.

“You think he’ll be fine?” she asked Alabaster with worried, motherly eyes. Alabaster answered her question with one of his own.

“Wisp, we were born in the Dragon Lands, right? The very birthplace of fire itself?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Well, the whole ‘birth of fire’ thing is technically a matter of opinion.”

“Damn it, Wisp, you know what I mean!”

“Yes,” she said flatly, “we were born in the Dragon Lands. Why are you asking?” Alabaster sighed.

“I’m just wondering how this place can be so freaking miserable!” Whisper tapped her chin and thought for a moment.

“Well, this place is dry. Like, REALLY dry. At least it rains occasionally in the Dragon Lands. I remember some of the sailors saying that Southern Equestria is prone to droughts and heatwaves.”

Alabaster shook his head and tried to let the topic slide. What really mattered now were the tall wooden buildings that laid only yards ahead. Even the shadows that were jutted out looked cool and inviting.

_First order of business,_  he thought,  _some hot food to stuff my face with._  His stomach growled in noisy agreement. He couldn’t help but smile.  _I know, buddy, I feel the same way._

It had been a long while since he ate a decent meal, but it had been even longer since he last took a bath. After fairing through a sea voyage and two desert treks, his once ivory coat was now masked by a light-brown layer of dirt, sweat, and other kinds of grime. It even obscured his cutie mark, making it appear more like a smudge on his rump. Thus, a bath would be his next target once his belly was full.

Much to Alabaster and Little Whisper’s relief, the streets of Appleloosa seemed fairly empty. The few signs of life, aside from them, were the occasional farm ponies that were either making their way home or going to the bar. A pair of foals came bounding by the party with wooden swords in their mouths, each shouting vows of destruction upon the other. Little Whisper watched them, almost longingly, until a tired-looking mare poked her head out of a nearby window and called the two foals in for dinner. Whisper seemed to deflate a bit after that.

Alabaster, however, had never even noticed the children. A few blocks ahead sat a weathered building with wide swinging doors. Just above the entrance was the silhouette of giant mug. Alabaster was instantly enthralled. Unfortunately for him, it didn’t take long for Whisper to follow his gaze. Not that he was being subtle about it.

“I don’t think so,” Whisper said sharply. “Not after what happened at the last town.” Alabaster went sheepish, like a child who had just been caught with his hoof in the cookie jar. Little Whisper was probably the only pony alive who could make him act in such a manner.

“Oh come on,” he laughed, almost nervously, “drinking wasn’t what got us in trouble last time.”

“No,” she agreed, “but you do attract a lot of attention to yourself whenever you drink, and we can’t really afford any attention right now, Al.” Reluctantly, he nodded. He knew she was right, but that didn’t make it any easier to keep walking once the bar was finally at their side.

“Besides,” Whisper continued, “you don’t need booze right now. You need substance!” Alabaster grumbled something too low for her to hear, but she didn’t pay any mind to it.

After a few minutes of walking, the trio eventually managed to find the town inn. It had been a while since Alabaster had been so glad to see such a rickety old building. The Happy Apple Inn was a longstanding part of Appleloosa, and one could tell from a single glance. However, despite how gruff and beaten the inn appeared, it had been built to last. And it did just that.

Alabaster was just making his way up the front steps to the inn when a voice suddenly called out to him.

“Whoa there, Sunny! Let me have a word with ya’ll before ya go in!”  _If it isn’t one thing, it’s another._

With an exasperated sigh, Alabaster turned alongside his companions. Behind them stood a stout stallion who, at first glance, appeared to be like every other cow-pony they had encountered. Alabaster regarded the stallion’s stereotypical handlebar mustache, oversized hat, and brown vest with a calculative flicker of his eyes. Then that’s when he noticed it, the glint of a tin star pinned to the stallion’s vest.

_Oh, damn it all…_

“What can we do for you, Sheriff?” Whisper asked with a politeness that Alabaster wouldn’t have been able to find. The law-pony looked her up and down, almost skeptically.

“Just want ya’ll to take a walk with me over to the jailhouse for a bit, so I can talk to ya’ll in private.” Digging his teeth into the tip of his tongue, Alabaster struggled to keep his mouth shut.

“I don’t understand, is something wrong?” The sheriff shook his head.

“No, nothing like that, little missy. Just want to properly greet Appleloosa’s newest visitors is all. Make sure ya get a good first impression.”

_Right… and a jailhouse is the perfect place to make first impressions._

Whisper looked at Alabaster, her green eyes obviously pleading that he not do something stupid. It seemed that there was nothing to be done about it then. The thought of spending another day trudging through the scorching desert seemed a lot worse than humoring an authority figure.

_But oh, how authority figures make me feel chafed,_  Alabaster thought with a glower.

***

The sheriff's office at the back of the jailhouse was hot, stuffy, and reeked of cigar smoke. Midnight Dreary felt as if he would choke on the air because it was so thick. It was a wonder how anyone could spend more than a few seconds in such a place, let alone work here. Yet the sheriff sat comfortably behind his desk as if he was right at home. A fat cigar hung between his lips, billowing out clouds of smoke that seemed to frame his chiseled face.

The sheriff surveyed the travelers each in turn, his gaze lingering the longest on Midnight’s blank flank. It was all Midnight could do not to shift under that steely gaze of his. He was thankful when the sheriff’s attention eventually moved over to Alabaster.

“Ya’ll can relax now. I said there wasn’t any trouble.” Though he spoke reassuringly, it did nothing to put anyone’s worries at ease. Alabaster was forcing back a scowl and Little Whisper’s smile was paper thin.

“Then do you mind telling us why we’re here?” Alabaster asking hotly, his eyes level with the sheriff’s. The sheriff exhaled, letting a puff of smoke roll out.

“Ya’ll the ones who drifted through Dodge Junction yesterday, aren’t cha? Them outlanders?” The question brought silence. Whisper’s smile fell and she felt butterflies tickle her stomach. Midnight began to shrink back, as if he was fearful that the sheriff’s words had poisoned the air. The only one undeterred was Alabaster.

“And why do you ask that, Sheriff?” The sheriff stared at him for moment before answered.

“Because yesterday, I got a message from the sheriff over there, tellin’ me to watch for some drifters that rolled in from the East. He said that they were up to no good, so he sent them on their way. Guess he thought I’d like to know in case they decided to come this way.” He paused to tap the cigar over a cracked ashtray.

“He also gave a pretty good description of them. Pretty good indeed.”

Alabaster ground his teeth in frustration, trying his best to keep composed. It seemed to him that they’d never be able to get ahead. They hadn’t even been in Appleloosa for twenty minutes before the law had come looking for them. How was someone supposed to start over when things like this kept happening?

“So,” Alabaster said venomously, no longer holding onto the hope of fooling the lawpony. “Where does that leave us then?” Much to his annoyance, the sheriff took his sweet time puffing on his cigar before he responded.

“It don’t really leave us anywhere. I honestly got no problem with yer kind passing through.” The look of bewilderment on the trio’s faces gave the sheriff no small amount of pleasure.

“W-wait a second,” Whisper stuttered. “Then why bring us to a jailhouse? We thought we were in trouble!” The expression of confusion was gone from Alabaster’s face, and instead it was replaced with anger.

“Yeah, I’m wondering the same damn thing.”

“Well,”—The sheriff began to smile.—“Part of it is because I can be a bit of a jerk at times. If ya couldn’t tell from the empty cells outside, Appleloosa is on the lackin’ side of criminals. Very rarely do I get the opportunity to hassle folks. It’s all in fun though, really.”

“And the other part?” The smile vanished as quickly as it came.

“Because had I to warn ya’ll, before ya went and did something foolish. Such as makin’ it known that yer not from… around.”

“About that,” Alabaster said hotly. “What the hell does everyone around here have against outlanders, anyway? When we started saving up to come over here, we were under the impression that Equestria was welcome to anyone!” The sheriff gave him a look that was almost empathetic.

“Ya’ll thought wrong, boy. Ever since that darn Tirek character tore Equestria a new one a few months ago, yer kind hasn’t been sittin’ well with anypony here in Equestria.”

“But why?” Alabaster didn’t like where this was going. “None of that crap had anything to do we us!”

“I’m afraid it does,” he sighed. “Has to do with him bein’ one too; an outlander that darn near destroyed the kingdom. It’s because of him that there’s a blight on this country, like a spot of dying grass in a pasture. You don’t know it, but there were many ponies that lost lives and livelihoods when that bastard tore through here…”

He stopped for a moment to take a long drag from his cigar, the cherry glowing just a bit brighter. An overcast fell over his eyes, making them as dark and cloudy as the smoke that escaped his lips. Then, with an exhale that was more of a sigh, he gave a short narration of the horror that befall Equestria during Tirek’s short rule.

It took him only a few minutes to tell the story; although, almost all of it were bits and pieces that he had heard from others who had been passing through Appleloosa from the North. Horrible things of trains derailing when their conductors collapsed, taxis crashing everywhere in the busy cities, house fires that no one was able to extinguish in time, and other grisly accidents that left many ponies maimed or worse.

Once the sheriff finished, he snuffed the cigar out in the ashtray, almost abrasively. Emotions were rising in the aging stallion, and he was trying hard not to let it show. It wouldn’t do to have these strangers see him in such a manner. Whisper, who was now even more lost for words, saw this, but didn’t give any rise that she had.

“Look,” Alabaster started slowly, trying to sound as courteous as possible, “I’m sorry all that crap happened. Really, I am. It sounds downright disgusting. But I don’t see why that has anything to do with us. I mean, it isn’t like we’re going around sucking people off and trying to score some soul juice!” Whisper’s cheeks went cherry red.

“That ain’t the point, boy! Because of him, almost everypony in Equestria thinks ya’ll outlanders are monster bent on destruction! And honestly… I don’t rightly blame ‘em. You outlanders are of a rare quantity. And I do mean [rare]. Heck, even the sailors and traders from out beyond don’t stay longer than they have to. Not anymore.” The sheriff began to lean forward, his brow creasing as he squinted at them.

“But you fellas—the ones lookin’ to settle here—ya’ll bring something that nopony in Equestria is ready for yet. And that’s uncertainty. Do ya’ll see what I’m getting at?” The trio shared a quick glance amongst themselves, but didn’t respond.

“Nopony in Equestria knows much about the lands that lay out beyond, or about the ponies who live there, except that they are dangerous. And why should they? We’ve been livin’ just fine without givin’ too much thought to what’s goin’ on out in the world. Well, that is… until recently…”

His words trailed off and a somber expression came over his face. Slowly, the sheriff sank back into his chair without another word. The room fell silent after that, and wasn’t lifted until after Whisper managed to find her voice.

“Why would you tell us all of this? Not that we aren’t grateful!” she added quickly. “It just seems that from what you’ve told us, no one else would do such a kind thing…”

“You’re right,” he answered wistfully. “They wouldn’t… tell me, how old are ya’ll? Ya seem pretty young. Not much more than yer mid-twenties, I’m guessin’.” As taken aback by the sudden question as they were, eventually Alabaster and Little Whisper nodded slowly. The question rolled past Midnight without any response, but if the sheriff noticed he didn’t show it.

“Yeah,” Alabaster said carefully, “I’m twenty-three and she’s twenty-two.”

“I thought as much.” the sheriff shifted in his seat as he spoke. “Ya’ll are about the same age as my daughter, Celestia bless her. That darn girl always had such a knack for healin’. Even studied up there at the School when she was a foal. It was always her dream to go out and help ponies in need…” That went over their heads completely, but none of them dared to interrupt him. The sheriff’s eyes went sorrowful once more, but now Whisper was not the only one to notice it.

“And right now, she’s more than likely stuffed under the deck of some blasted trading ship, probably not unlike the one ya’ll came over here on, off to the Dragon Lands… Darn girl thinks she can save the world.” Alabaster and Whisper’s eyes grew wide as they made the connection.

“S-she’s a Scholar going to help the tribes, isn’t she?” Whisper asked, already knowing the answer. “We noticed a number them, the last few months they were there. She’s very brave, sir, if you don’t mind me saying.” Alabaster nodded his head, slowly.

When dragon clans battled each other, nothing was safe. But right now, the dragon clans weren’t just fighting. They were at  _war_. This was the main reason Whisper and Alabaster had tried so hard to leave the country. Every night the horizon would be set ablaze with dragon fire as the horrid beasts clashed in the distance, lighting up the night sky as if it were day. The wave of flames had already consumed most of the western lands, sending caravans and pony tribes alike fleeing for their lives. Sadly, few were fast enough to outrun the wrath of warring dragons.

“She is.” The sheriff’s eyes narrowed. “But as to yer question… I guess I’d like to think that there’s somepony out there who’ll look out for her, just as I’m lookin’ out for ya’ll now. Call it karma, I guess-”

“You don’t have to explain,” Whispered assured him, this time smiling earnestly. “And thank you, really.”

“Don’t be thankin’ me, missy. Ya’ll still might have a hard time yet, here in Appleloosa.” Alabaster squinted warily.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I know ya’ll came to Appleloosa lookin’ for work. Only problem with that, there is none. If ya’ll had been here a few months ago or so, ya might have had a chance of workin’ at the apple farm. But right now the farm is about up to its ears with workers.”

“You’re absolutely sure?” Helplessness was a feeling that Alabaster was rarely familiar with, but at that moment, he knew it well. He knew that their savings could only take them so far, especially if they were staying in inns without bringing in any income.

“I ain’t lyin’, sunny.” Alabaster flinched at the name. “I’ve known everypony in this town since I was a little foal. I could even name them all if I had to, right down to their foals! And let me tell ya, there ain’t nopony lookin’ for an extra hoof right now.  _Nopony_. With the new taxes those damn nobles have laid out, yer gonna be hard pressed to find anypony willin’ to spend more bits than they have to.”

_Damn it! It can never be simple, can it?_  As if the sheriff had read his thoughts, he gave the pegasus a sympathetic smile.

“But don’t worry, ya’ll wouldn’t want to work down here anyway. Smalltown folks ask a lot of questions when somepony lingers for too long, questions ya’ll would do well to steer clear from. Besides, there’s a place up a little north from here that I know will more than likely have somethin’ for ya, if yer willin to do some  _hard_  work.”


	4. Chapter 4

The sun was nearly hidden under the horizon when the trio finally exited the jailhouse and trotted into an empty street. As the door closed behind Midnight, the sheriff could be seen in his office lighting up a fresh cigar. Alabaster had only made it a few steps out the door before Whisper was at his side.

“Not out here,” he said suddenly, before the mare had a chance to say anything. Troubled thoughts amassed in Whisper’s head like storm clouds, and he knew it. In all honesty, the encounter with the sheriff left him feeling none too different. Despite that, he did his best to give Whisper a reassuring smile.

“We’ll talk at the inn, all right?” Little Whisper nodded and smiled back. Even though the street seemed void of other life, Alabaster wouldn’t feel comfortable discussing the matter at hand without being behind a nice, locked door.

_But first things first_ , he reminded himself, turning to face Midnight as he trotted up. Even though the dark stallion had actually been decent company, Alabaster knew that this moment had been coming all day. Amnesia or no, having him around was a variable that none of them could risk.  _Better do it now and get over with quickly._

“So… Midnight…” he started awkwardly. “We need to talk real quickly.”

Subtly didn’t suit Alabaster at all. Midnight Dreary knew very well what was coming next. The thought of their departure had not been far from his thoughts for most of the day. Now, in the heat of the moment, Midnight found himself feeling quite indifferent to the matter.  _It was an inevitability_ , he had reasoned. However, he knew that this would put him right back to square one. Which was nowhere.

Midnight Dreary wasn’t the only one who read Alabaster’s intentions. Whisper’s eyes widened and her heart vaulted for her throat.

“Look,” Alabaster continued, “I think it’s time-” The words turned into a loud grunt as Whisper shoved her shoulder into his side and sent him over a couple steps.

“Give us just a moment, Midnight!” Whisper called to a confused looking Midnight as she pushed Alabaster out of earshot.

“The hell’s your deal!” The words came out as a hiss as Alabaster glared down at her. “You hit me right where you left those freaking bruises!”

“Look, Al,” Whisper began, thinking carefully about what she would say, “I know what you’re about to do, but I have something to say first.” His brow furrowed and his eyes flickered over her suspiciously, yet he held his peace. She hoped that was a sign that he would listen. Maybe…

Biting the tip of her tongue, Whisper couldn’t quite find a good way to word what she needed to say. So, she quickly settled with the direct approach. Perhaps it would even catch Alabaster off guard.

“I think we should invite Midnight to travel with us,” she dropped the bomb as gently as she could. The look on Alabaster’s face was that of a person who had just succumbed to a stroke. Whisper was just about to check his pulse when he exploded.

“Are you serious?” he half whispered, half shouted. “Because you can’t possibly be serious! You must be having some kind of reaction to all that cigar smoke or something!”

“No, you have to listen to me, Al. Just for a- quit it!” Alabaster’s hooves had begun poking and prodding around the braids of her mane, feeling to see if her head had a soft spot.

“I’m perfectly fine, Al! Will you just hear me out?” He dropped back to all fours and stared confoundedly at her.

“Fine,” he grunted, “but I hope you start making sense pretty quickly, Wisp, and I do mean really quickly.”

“Okay.” The mare grudgingly adjusted her tangled braids as she spoke. “I know that it must sound crazy, but we can’t just leave that poor stallion all on his own.”

“Why not?” Alabaster asked curtly. Those green eyes began to burn into him like a spotlight.

“You heard his story. He doesn’t even know who he is! Could you possibly imagine what that’s like, to be lost in a country with no idea who you are or who to trust? At least we have each other, Al. He doesn’t have a thing in the world except for the saddlebag on his back.” She took a breath for dramatic effect. “If we leave him now, it would be just like leaving a little foal alone to fend for himself.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that guy is a foal, Wisp-” He was silenced by the look on Whisper’s face, which clearly said ‘stick a hoof in it!’ Somehow the tables had been turned, and now it was Alabaster’s turn to be the prey.

“L-look here, Wisp,” he stammered, wondering when and how Whisper had become the aggressor. “Y-you don’t even know this guy. For all we know, that tale about amnesia and junk was a bucket full of shit.”

“It wasn’t.” The tone in Whisper voice was definite and firm. “He’s lost, Al. I can take one look at him and see it.” Alabaster dared a squint at her.

“You were doing that 'creeping' thing again, weren’t you? I told you not to do that crap! It freaks me out…” Whisper sighed and rolled her eyes.

“That’s not the point! The point is that I refuse to let us abandon him, not when he has nowhere else to go. It. Isn’t. Right!”

“All right then… but why him? Of all the strays we’ve been in the mix with in the past, why are you pulling to take in this one?”

Whisper couldn’t quite put into words what it was she felt whenever she looked at Midnight. Most people were an open book to her and Midnight was no different. However, when she looked at his pages, she saw a story not too much unlike her own; she saw sorrow and confusion. Even when he smiled and conversed with them earlier, she noticed it still, like a dark cloud looming above his head.

“I guess because, when I look at him, I see myself… back when I still lived in the swamplands…”

_Oh, damn._  Though discussion of Whisper’s time in the swamplands was never brought up much, Alabaster knew well that it was a dark time for her. She had spent most of her childhood clinging to life in that dark and horrendous place, searching for the hive that had long left her to die. Mainly it was Alabaster who wouldn’t hear any talk about it. The thought of his only friend being marooned in that hellhole was too much for him.

“You really think he’s that bad off?” Whisper nodded earnestly. Alabaster ran a hoof through his mane and ground his teeth in frustration. It had been a long time since he had seen his friend so persistent about something.  _Can’t believe I’m even considering this…_

“Fine,” he sighed, his will caving like a house of straw. “If you really think his situation is so dire and if he wants to tag along, I guess I’m fine with it… for now.” Whisper’s smile almost threatened to split her face in half.

“You mean it?” she blurted, no longer trying to maintain any level of subtlety. Alabaster nodded reluctantly.

“Oh, thank you, Al!” she squealed, pulling Alabaster into a neck-breaking bear hug. “I promise, you won’t regret this!”  _We’ll see about that…_

“Just remember,” he wheezed as Whisper’s embrace crushed his windpipe, “he’s your responsibility. That means clean newspapers and fresh water every day.” Whisper laughed as she released Alabaster and turned to head back to Midnight, almost skipping along as she went.

Though the sight of Whisper’s joy pleased Alabaster more than he cared to admit, he couldn’t help but feel troubled as he watched after her. His thoughts churned in his head like a restless ocean and his stomach felt tight and cramped.  _Damn her,_ he thought.  _What exactly did she see in him that would make her act like this?_  The idea that she might not be telling him everything popped up, and Alabaster felt a twinge of shame when he did not immediately dismiss it.

_Whisper knows what’s at stake,_  he concluded.  _For now, I’ll just let her have this and trust that she knows what she’s doing._

The pale stallion took a moment to scrounge up a smile that could just pass as sincere before following his overjoyed companion.

***

Midnight watched listlessly as a grinning Whisper bounded to him with a not-quite-so-happy Alabaster in tow. Though the two had spoken in whispers from a distance, it had made little difference for the quiet stallion. The shadows spoke to him softly, and they spoke in the hushed voices of Little Whisper and Alabaster.

Truthfully, he had never intended to listen. Midnight screwed his eyes shut and tried to push the invading voices from his mind. However, the shadows proved to be as persistent as the gnats and flies that had pursued him all day.

“Midnight, we have something we’d like to ask you,” Whisper beamed, wasting no time at all.

“Something  _Whisper_  would like to ask you,” Alabaster corrected, his smile faltering for a moment. Midnight could tell that he was forcing his enthusiasm.

“Whatever,” she giggled, barely able to contain herself. “Anyway, we talked it over for a bit and decided that we’d like you travel with us for a bit longer. That’s if you want to, of course! We just thought that with your…  _condition_ , you might feel safer staying in a group for a while.” Little Whisper was almost bubbling over with excitement as she spoke.

For a moment, Midnight had no idea how to respond. If it wasn’t for the damnable shadows he might have actually been surprised. Almost timidly, Midnight looked to Alabaster and asked, “You both will have me?”

“Of course!” Alabaster answered hastily. “Leaving behind a guy who doesn’t even know who he is or anyone else would be like… abandoning a foal!”

_That was not the tone you were singing a moment ago,_  Midnight thought glumly. He didn’t blame Alabaster in the least bit for that. The hotheaded stallion was simply looking out for his friend and himself.

It took only seconds for him to come to a decision. Midnight had only a meager amount of bits in his saddlebag and no one to turn to for help once that was gone. If he struck out on his own, then he would be no better than a tumbling leaf trapped in a rainstorm.

“Then yes,” he answered at last. “I would very much like to remain with the two of you… For as long as you’ll have me, at least-” A squeal of delight cut him short just as two powerful legs pulled him into a neck-breaking embrace that left him gasping for air like a beached fish.

“Yeah, she’s kind of clingy today,” Alabaster quipped. “Yo Whisper, I think he’s trying to say ‘uncle’! It wouldn’t do at all if you killed him before he realized what kind of mistake he’s made.”

“Oh!” Whisper exclaimed, her cheeks turning a light shade of crimson. “I’m so sorry! Guess I just got a little carried away…”

“It’s fine,” Midnight croaked, rubbing his throat. “You just caught me off guard is all.”

This time the smile that Alabaster wore was genuine, as was his laughter. “Oh, you two are just precious! But if you’re done strangling everyone, Wisp, I’d like to try going into the inn again before anyone else decides that they have business with us.”

The blooming blossoms on Whisper’s face deepened and her gaze grew sharp on her old friend, but she decided to remain silent as she fell in behind him. Midnight did the same, though he felt a little awkward doing so. He had been at their side all day, enduring the bitterness of the desert right along with them, but now he felt something that he had not before. He felt almost hopeful.

***

When you’ve seen one inn, you’ve pretty much seen them all. Or at least, that was Alabaster’s opinion. As it turns out, the Happy Apple Inn was no different. The front door lead to a quaint little parlor that was nearly empty except for a dusty sofa propped up against the leftmost wall and a worn-out rug laid limp like a dead animal on the hardwood floor. Heavy drapes drooped over dirty windows, blotting out any light that would chance its way inside.  _Yep_ , Alabaster concluded.  _I’ve still seen them all. Go figure._

At the reception counter sat a portly little stallion that was nose deep in a magazine. A fat hoof scratched at his receded mane-line as his glazed eyes slowly scanned the magazine’s colorful pages, never once looking up to acknowledge the newly arrived ponies. As the party approached the counter, Alabaster glanced at the magazine and was just able to make out numerous images of a stocking clad mare that lounged seductively on a heart shaped bed.  _Good to see innkeepers don’t change that much either._

“Hey pal,” Alabaster said when the stallion failed to notice them. “We’d like a room, please.” The innkeeper looked up with a start, his brown eyes wide.

“W-what!? C-can I do something for ya, son?” Alabaster blinked, slightly taken back by his response.

“We’d like a room,” he repeated sharply.

“Oh, right! I do that, don’t I?” The question actually sounded sincere and it earned a raised eyebrow from Alabaster.

“Yeah buddy, you do… So, how much?” The fat pony studied him quizzically for a moment or two, almost as if Alabaster had just spoken in another language. Finally the question seemed to click.

“Oh! Well, that depends of what yer lookin for.”

“All right then… We just want the cheapest room you have with a bed and bath.”

“How long ya lookin at stayin?”

“Three nights.” The innkeeper nodded slowly as he tried to figure up the numbers in his head.

“That’ll be… uh… Fifteen bits? Yeah, fifteen bits.” Alabaster eyed him suspiciously. He wasn’t sure if he should trust this pony with his money or not.

“You sure it’s fifteen bits?” He asked. The innkeeper nodded again, this time quicker. Alabaster shrugged and pulled out the proper coinage from his saddlebag. It took the innkeeper a minute or two to count the pile of coins, but eventually he scooped them up and gave Alabaster a wide grin.

“Thanks fer chosen the Happy Apple, sir! Give me just a moment to grab the key.” He swung around in his chair and started shifting through a tangled group of keys that all hung from a single metal hook.

“Pleasure’s mine,” the pegasus said quietly, watching the innkeeper with a mixture of fascination and confusion. Then he remembered something.

“One more thing, pal, do you know anyplace that sells cheap food?” The innkeeper spun back around, key in hoof, and stared blankly at Alabaster before answering.

“Oh, cheap food? Well, you could try goin’ to see old Sour Apple!” He then pointed somewhere off to Alabaster’s right. “She runs a little kitchen in the back of this place. Usually she just cooks fer ranchers who come in durin’ lunch, but I’m sure she won’t mind cookin’ fer you folk too.”

Alabaster followed his fat hoof and found an old wooden door that lead further into the bowels of the inn.  _Well, that’s mighty convenient._ He was rather relieved that they wouldn’t have to risk venturing the streets again.

“How late does she keep the kitchen open?” Alabaster pocketed the key as he spoke.

“Probably won’t be closin’ fer another hour or so… I think… Today’s Saturday, right?”

“Er… No, it’s Monday.”

“Oh that’s right! Then yeah, she’ll be closin in about an hour and a half.”

“Right… Well, thanks a lot, pal.” The innkeeper nodded just before diving back into the magazine once more.  _I hope everyone else in this town isn’t like this guy. Otherwise, stroking out in the desert may not be that bad of an alternative._

“Well,” Whisper said once Alabaster had rejoined the group. “That was… something else.” Midnight nodded, his deep blue eyes watching the oblivious innkeeper cautiously.

“You’re probably headed off to get some food, right?” Alabaster opened his mouth to answer her, but was cut off by a loud grumbling from his stomach. It sounded more like a growling bear.

Whisper giggled. “All right, I hear you! Just leave me the key before you go, please.”

“Sure thing, Wisp.” The keyring that Alabaster handed her had a white tag attached to it, the letter ‘eight’ scrawled upon it in large hoof-print. Midnight watched her begin to ascend the stairs with concern in his eyes.

“You’re not coming with us? Aren't you hungry?” Whisper froze in her tracks, hoof dangling inches from the next step. Her eyes went wide and fearful as she struggled to think of an alibi of some kind. However, the panic only lasted for the measure of a heartbeat. When she turned to Midnight, she did so with cool confidence.

“I am, but the heat has done quite a number on me –Woo!” She raised a hoof to her head and feigned faintness. “I just need to go up and lay down for a bit before I eat something. Besides, Al knows what I like. Isn’t that right?”

“That’s right,” Alabaster said in beat, smiling innocently. Midnight didn’t seem convinced though.

“Truly, I’ll be fine,” Whisper insisted as she shooed them away with a dainty hoof. “You two go on ahead.” With that, Whisper continued her climb until her rump finally vanished from view.

Alabaster nudged Midnight along when he noticed the dark stallion wasn’t moving. “Come on, Midnight, Let’s go get some eats.” Then he gave the innkeeper a furtive glance.

“And let us pray she isn’t as sodden headed as that poor bastard.” Midnight allowed himself to fall in line behind Alabaster, but not before casting one last glance at the stairs, solemnly.

***

Sour Apple’s little ‘make shift’ restaurant was scarcely bigger than the inn’s lobby. Five round tables were crammed into the room, all were empty save for one. The table in the far off corner seated three weary looking stallions who chatted away idly as they nibbled at their food.

“You two just gonna loaf around all evenin’, or are ya wantin’ some grub?” Toward the back of the room was a small service window that opened up to a hidden kitchen. Sticking out of the window was the head of a disgruntled mare that could easily have been three times Alabaster’s age.  _I take it that’s Sour Apple._

Drawing closer to the shouting mare, Alabaster put on a polite smile that quickly became a lopsided cringe of disgust. The old mare’s apple red mane and coat had long faded a few shades lighter. However, what had startled him was the fact that the mare had more wrinkles than a broken egg had cracks, each crease of her papery skin appearing as if it had been painted on by a heavy hoof.  _Good grief, the bags under her eyes look larger than my saddlebags!_

“Ugh… hey…” Alabaster fought to stay focused, but the pure ugliness of the haggard mare distracted him like a light being shone in his eyes. “I’ll have-”

Sour Apple’s raspy voice cut in, “You’ll have whatever I’m cookin’, how’s about that? Just tell me how much ya want.” Alabaster found himself lost for words. Like a dying fish thrown from water, his mouth hung open and closed repeatedly. Before he could respond, Sour Apple’s bloodshot eyes moved to the stallion hiding behind Alabaster. Her lips parted and revealed a toothy grin.

“Hey there, cutie,” she said flirtatiously, batting her eyelashes. “Maybe I ought to be servin’ you up instead, as sweet as you look. Nay, I should just take ya home and keep ya all to myself. Why, I’d make a three course dinner out of ya! What do ya think about that?”

Midnight’s flesh began to crawl under the mare’s hungry gaze while Alabaster was trying to resist the urge to gag. The horrific images that flooded the pale stallion’s mind were not ones he ever wanted to revisit.  _Ever._

“I-I think we’ll j-just take three of whatever you’re cooking, m-ma’am.” Sour Apple looked back to Alabaster and gave a disappointed  **tsk**.

“Today’s special is grilled cheese sandwiches, sonny. Ya still want three?” He nodded timidly. “All righty, then that’ll be three bits.”  _Well, the food is cheap at least._ Alabaster deposited the bits and Sour Apple swiped them up with greedy hooves, as if expecting the traveler to change his mind. With coin in hoof, the old mare vanished behind the window, but not before giving a sly wink to Midnight. It was then Alabaster’s turn to squirm.

There was the loud clatter of cookware as Sour Apple set out to fill the traveler’s order. Seconds later, the hissing of a frying pan filled the air with the promises of food. Alabaster’s stomach rumbled and growled at the wonderful sound, demanding that it receive sustenance immediately. Shifting impatiently from hoof to hoof, he prayed that it wouldn’t take too long for the sandwiches to cook. A stallion’s ravenousness could only be contained for so long.

A few minutes had passed when he heard a loud click. The hissing ceased and Apple Sour returned to the window seconds later with a small takeout bag clutched between her teeth. Alabaster took a whiff of it and was greeted by the scent that could only have been described as celestial. A couple of times before in the past he had tried a few cheese sandwiches, but none had come close to smelling as good as the ones that Sour Apple had made. Then again, he was one  _really_  hungry pony.

“Here ya go,” she struggled to say, the bag almost slurring her speech.  _Well, damn it._ With a stiff upper lip, Alabaster did his best to take the bag without making contact with the prune-y mare. With the bag merely inches under his nose, the delicious fumes radiating from the sandwiches made his head swim.

“Before ya go, sonny,” Sour Apple brushed back a few stray locks of mane seductively. “Tell that friend of yers not to be a stranger, ya hear? Sour Apple may be old, but she knows fixins to keep a young stallion satisfied.”

Alabaster couldn’t bring himself to respond, not without possibly killing his appetite. With a brisk nod, he turned around and discovered that his companion had traded his place in line for a seat at a table that nearly hugged the wall opposite of Alabaster.  _Can’t really say that I blame him._ He trotted over and placed the bag in the middle of the table.

“Well buddy, time to eat up,” he said, sitting down in a rather rickety chair. “And as awkward as that was, I hope these damn things are worth it.” Inside the bag, the sandwiches were individually wrapped in large paper napkins that had become stained with hot butter and melted cheese. They each took one and tore into it. Although, Alabaster did most of the “tearing”. To both of their relief, the sandwiches were well worth the uncomfortable encounter with Sour Apple.

“Just so you know,” Alabaster said between mouthfuls, pausing to savor the taste of the gooey sharp cheddar. “If you’re going to be rolling with us, you’re going to have to pull your share of the weight. That’ll mean working whatever kind of job gets thrown our way.”

“Don’t worry, I am prepared to.” Midnight’s gaze remained down on his sandwich as he spoke. Alabaster studied him for moment, watching as Midnight took modest, almost dainty, bites from the corner of his sandwich.

“That’s good,” He said, nodding. “Because an extra set of hooves could really help us earn some extra bits. We’ll definitely need it with the extra mouth to feed.” Midnight stopped mid-bite and raised his head to look at Alabaster with unexpressive blue eyes.

“Are you worried that I won’t do my part in the group, Alabaster? Because I can assure you that I intend to do everything I possible can.” Alabaster shrugged and scratched the back of his neck.

“It’s not that I’m worried about you freeloading. We can just kick you to the road if it comes to  _that_.” For some reason, that didn’t sound too comforting to Midnight. “It has more to do with the fact that our little motley crew now has a plus one. This may come as a bit of a shocker, but we don't exactly make new friends everyday, let alone have someone new join up with us. Heck, take what happened in Dodge Junction for example… Anyway, it was just something I felt needed to be said, so I said it.”

Unknowing of how to respond, Midnight resigned himself to return to nibbling at the sandwich. The cheese was already beginning to cool, becoming thicker and chewier than it had been a few moments ago. If he didn’t want a cold sandwich on his hooves, he would have to up his pace.

In truth, Midnight couldn’t blame Alabaster for being cautious. The world weary traveler was simply playing the protector, no doubt a role that he had become quite accustomed to. But there was something else too, something that was going unsaid. Midnight saw it in the quick glances that Alabaster and Little Whisper shared, a secret that flickered like a flash of a lit candle across their eyes. However, if Midnight’s suspicions were correct, then why did Little Whisper try so hard to persuade Alabaster to let him continue traveling with them? If there was an answer to this, Midnight could not see it. For now, though, he was content with knowing that he had found a small place for himself in this strange country, despite how risky it might turn out to be.

As the Midnight brooded, Alabaster’s ears prickled. The silence that followed their conversation amplified the heated words of the ranchers from across the room.

“I’m tellin ya, it  _was_  bandits,” he heard one of the ranchers say through a mouthful of grilled cheese. “How else would ya explain two wagons full of cherries being turned over and burned up?”

“And I’m tellin ya, yer stupid,” the other second rancher hissed back, scowling as he leaned forward. “I hate to say it, but Jubilee’s boys are pullin’ the wool over her eyes if they sayin they were attacked!”

“That’s just it, they can’t find any of the fellers that were pullin’ the coaches! Four workin’ ponies just vanished, like a fart in the wind, and all that’s been found were those burnt wagons!” The second rancher’s expression turned wary.

“Then what the hay happened to the cherries? Jubilee’s wagons carries over a hundred thousand of them suckers. You can’t tell me them disappeared like a fart too!”

His friend nodded vigorously. “But they did! Nopony found as much as a cherry stem when they scrounged through the wreckage!”

“I hope yer just messin around,” the second rancher said dryly, sinking back into his seat. “It’s bad times when a farmer can’t even sell his own crops without havin’ to look over his shoulder.”

That was when the third rancher, a much older pony with snowy beard, decided to speak up. “Boy, you don’t know bad times. But give it a little while, and we all will.” The second rancher squinted at him.

“The hay you talkin about?”

“What I’m talkin about, youngin, is the trouble brewin up north that's spillin' down here. Yer sayin’ that Jubilee’s wagons couldn’t have been robbed, yet there’s plenty of wagons gettin’ knocked over up there around the Crystal Empire. Ya’ll would be surprised how plentiful robbers will become when ponies are put out of job and home. And them cities won’t hold ‘em forever, I tell ya, if ya could even say their doin' so now. Give it time, and we’re going to have more ter worry about than our wagons been knocked over.”

The second rancher scoffed. “Yer growing senile. Even if a lick of that were true, the Guard wouldn’t let that happen!”

“And yer growin’ deaf,” the elder shot back. “Don’t you ever pay attention to the news? There hardly is no more Guard left! Them and those Scholars have all had their wages cut to the point where most of them just straight up deserted. I don’t blame them either. Why risk a dagger in yer every day when it don’t even pay enough to put bread in yer family's stomachs?”

The two younger ranchers remained quiet for a long while after that, their expressions growing slightly gloomier the longer they sat. Convinced that the conversation was over, Alabaster turned his attention back to his sandwich. The cheese was cold and the bread had become chewy, but he barely noticed it.  _Well, it seems like Equestria just keeps getting more interesting by the minute._

***

Little Whisper had put up quite the performance. In fact, she had even managed to fool herself for a while. But now, within the confines of the tiny hotel room, she could no longer hold the act together. Whisper writhed on the bed in agony as the pain of an old hunger twisted her innards into tight knots. Her eyes were screwed shut, and her limbs clung tightly to the one person she daring share her torment with. The lifeless body of Mr. Smiles was pressed tightly to Whisper’s chest as he tried in vain ease her suffering.

_Get ahold of yourself, Whisper!_  She clutched to her thoughts as tightly as she clutched to Mr. Smiles, afraid that the throbbing pain would drown them away.  _You can’t let them see you like this. You can’t! You’ve pushed through the hunger before and you’ll push through now!_

The image of Midnight and Alabaster walking into the room and seeing her like this, convulsing and twisted up in the sheets, popped into her mind. Their eyes would be wide with shock and they would scream her name. Midnight wouldn’t understand, he wouldn’t understand at all. And Alabaster would…  _He would make me feed._  Whisper despaired at the thought, even though she knew it was inevitable.

Slowly, she managed to regain steadiness over her shaking limbs. That was something, at least. From there, Whisper fought to push the pain aside. Even though it was something she had practiced many times, very rarely did the act get any easier. Just as Midnight and Alabaster were finishing up their sandwiches, the last few throbs of pain melted away from her sore stomach. Relief washed over her like a cool shower, and with it came exhaustion. The hunger always left her feeling tired and ravaged. Her grip on Mr. Smiles grew softer as she gradually fell into a light doze.

***

Room eight of the Happy Apple Inn remained relatively quiet as the trio of travelers allowed themselves to unwind and relax. Little Whisper lay curled up with Mr. Smiles on the feather bed, her eyes drooping lower every second that passed.

Across the room, Midnight lounged in an uncomfortable wingback chair, which felt as if it was more for decoration than actual use, and stared absently at the darkness that pressed itself against the room’s dusty window. Off to his left was a wooden door that led to a tiny bathroom. Behind the closed door, a dreary-eyed Alabaster waded neck deep in the still waters of a steamy bath. The heat of the bathwater purged away the day’s punishment from not only his coat, but his aching muscles as well.

Very little had been said on Alabaster’s and Midnight’s return from dinner; the travelers were too tired to summon up any kind of lengthy conversation. Probably the most interesting thing that transpired was when Midnight Dreary dragged himself to the bathroom and Alabaster scarfed down the remaining grilled cheese sandwich before he could return. When he did, Whisper had smiled and joked that she must have been hungrier than she thought. To their knowledge, poor Midnight had never even given Whisper’s lie a second thought.

Though some might have found their quiet lounging a bit boring, Midnight was actually rather grateful for it. The cruel desert air had run its nasty claws over his throat, making small talk quite a painful inconvenience. So instead, he reserved himself for his thoughts, and his thoughts were primarily about the sleeping arrangement.

From the very moment he entered the room, the timid stallion had not been happy with the odds stacked before them.  _Three ponies, one bed?_  he thought anxiously as he studied the rickety bed.  _How was this going to work?_  When he had raised this concern with Alabaster, the pale stallion simply shrugged.

“You two take it,” Alabaster said causally. “I’m perfectly fine with the floor for tonight, so long as I can get a blanket.” When Midnight asked if he was sure, Little Whisper couldn’t help but cut in.

“Don’t worry, Midnight,” she giggled. “I don’t kick in my sleep or anything.” Alabaster got a chuckle out of that as well.

“Yeah, she’s a pretty even sleeper, never tosses or turns.” Unfortunately, that didn’t make Midnight feel any better.

Thus he brooded on it, staring at the bed as if it was some slumbering beast lying in wait. This is until a stretched out Whisper happened to catch his lingering gaze, which appearing to be on fixed more on her instead of the bed. Midnight’s eyes shot to the window, where they remained. It was because of this hasty trepidation that he never noticed the budding roses on her cheeks. That was probably for the best, truth be told.

Eventually though, these thoughts, and all others, began to slip further and further from his mind. The day behind him had been long and trying. The silence that held the room captive was enticing and seductive.  _Strange_ , Midnight’s thoughts became fuzzy, as if his head had been packed with wool.  _I don’t hear any of those voices._  It must have been the lamp that sat on the nightstand by the bed. The cheap little thing did a well enough job at pushing back the shadows, restraining them to the farthest corners of the room. Midnight was thankful for that.

It felt to the tired stallion as if the chair was absorbing him, his slumping form slowly sinking deeper into the chair’s cushioned embrace. His half lidded eyes fought vigorously to remain open and he began to nod lightly, his neck no longer able support his drooping head. It was a struggle that would only go in vain. Within seconds, Midnight was snubbed out like a dying candle.

***

Little Whisper watched Midnight’s descent with a knowing smile. He had been too tired to notice her gaze weighing upon him. She too was not far off from the same fate. However, every time she came close to finally finding sleep, her stomach would give a sharp twinge. Though her hunger pains had left her earlier, it seemed that Whisper had to be reminded that she couldn’t go on for too much longer.  _Today just doesn’t want to end, does it?_  she asked herself morosely.

Sometime later, a series of loud gurgles marked the end of Alabaster’s “little” soak. A few minutes later, the stallion himself appeared in the doorway, a wall of steam bellowing out around him. His coat gave off a surprisingly healthy sheen in the lamplight.  _Amazing what some t.l.c. will do, even for a stallion as rough and rugged as Al._

“Good grief, Al, I didn’t think they’re running a sauna here.” Alabaster shrugged off her jest and glanced over at the sleeping sack of pony in the wingback chair.

“Well, looks like someone couldn’t wait till he at least got into bed. Though, I guess I know how that goes. If you’re tired, then you’re tired.”

“Should we wake him up?”

“Nope. You snooze, you lose… literally. Now scooch over.”

Whisper moved out of the way just in time for Alabaster to come flopping down on the bed. He was caught by a soft, feathery, cloud of bliss.

“Holy hell,” he groaned, his face buried in a pillow. “When was the last time we slept in a bed, Wisp? I can’t even remember.”

“There were those cots on the ship,” she answered with a yawn.

“Those don’t count. The floor was more comfortable than those damn things. Smelt better too.”

Even though the bed was already heavenly, it felt even more so when Alabaster crawled under the covers. The sheets were nice and cool, and smelt faintly of lilac. The room went quiet again, aside from the rhythmic sounds of Midnight’s breathing. Whisper was well on her way to nodding off again when Alabaster spoke her name. Midnight shifted at the sound of his voice, but went still soon after.

“What is it, Al?” Whisper yawned again. Lifting her head, she found Alabaster staring at her, his eyes shimmering like molten gold in the lamplight.

“Nothing,” he sighed after a long pause. “We can talk about it tomorrow.” He then bid her goodnight and curled up underneath the covers, a light snore arising from beneath only minutes later.

She watched over his sleeping form for quite some time after that, her muddled mind racing.  _He knows,_  she thought, almost in a panic.  _He knows, and he is going to make me feed._  The idea nearly made her sick. Granted, Whisper was ravenous. However, it never sat well with her when Alabaster forced her to feed.

It took a few minutes, but she eventually managed to calm herself down. She was honestly too tired to worry about it.  _Besides, maybe he just wants to talk more about Midnight._  That seemed likely enough, so she sheepishly allowed herself to believe that. With at least some sense of ease, she began to relax again. The pain still stabbed at her, but in the end, exhaustion won out and she was out in seconds.

***

The mid-morning sun peeked into room eight, casting long shadows across the wall as rays of light veined in. Whisper’s eyelids fluttered open, but closed quickly when the sunshine stung her still sensitive eyes. It was beyond her why the renovators of the room didn’t install curtains to go along with the window.

After repeatedly trying, and failing, to fall back asleep, Whisper decided that it must have been time for her to get up. However, as she stirred, she found that her legs were refusing to move.  _Wait, wha-_  Her mind was still drunk with sleep, and it took a few moments for all of her sense to return in full. Once they did, Whisper discovered a two pairs of white legs wrapped around her. She was being held hostage.

“Not again,” she sighed, realization sitting in. As if in response, Alabaster snored lightly as he nuzzled the back of Whisper’s mane. At least that explained why she felt so warm.

Some ponies toss and turn in their sleep, while others kick or hog the covers. Alabaster, however, was  _extremely_  clingy. Whisper usually took great care to distance herself from him whenever they bedded down. She must have been so tired the night before that it slipped her mind completely.

For a minute or two, she struggled to pry her way from the pegasus’s grasp without waking him. Whisper loathed waking Alabaster, especially when he was sleeping well. From the way he kept nuzzling her, he must have been sleeping  _very_  well.

Sadly, Whisper’s efforts went in vain. In fact, the more she squirmed, the tighter his grip became!  _Oh, I really need to get up,_  she thought as tiny needles pricked her restless limbs.  _I’m sorry, Al, but I got to do this._

“Al, wake up!” There was no response, so she tried again. “Come on, Al, can you hear me?”

She was answered with a muffled yawn. Whisper bit her tongue and restraining a shiver as his breath ran pleasurably down the back of her neck.  _Yep, going to forget that happened._

“Five more minutes,” the stallion then muttered, drifting off again immediately.  _Dang it, Al!_  Whisper decided to change tactics. Though she really didn’t want to, it was time to bring out the big guns.

“Hey, Al, it’s last call down at the tavern!” It was an old trick, but its success rate spoke for itself. Alabaster jolted awake, sleep instantly ripped away. His eyes opening to see a tangled mess of Whisper’s braids strewn across his face.

“Oh,” he groaned. “Guess I did it again, huh?” Whisper only nodded. Alabaster untangled himself from Whisper and hastily began to make his way out of bed, a tint of red splashed across his cheeks.

“Damn shame… Haven’t slept like that in a while.” He twisted his neck, giving it a good pop, while also trying to stretch out some of the kinks in his wings. Whisper made to rise out of bed too, but froze when she reached a seated position.

“Al,” she said with more than a hint of panic. “Where’s Midnight?” Glancing over, Alabaster saw that the wingback chair stood barren and dejected… save for a tiny butt imprint.

“Hmmm.” Alabaster mused himself quietly as he went to check the bathroom. With a flick of the light switch, the bathroom revealed itself to be as empty as the chair.

“Yeah, he’s not in here.” That sent Whisper to her hooves and to Alabaster’s side in an instant.

“You don’t think he just up and left, do you? Oh, maybe we should go out and see if he’s still around! It’s absolutely dangerous for a guy with amnesia to be striking out on his own, right? What if he’s having some kind of episode, Al? Just like one of those weird, smelly stallions that sat in the back of taverns and augured about rutabagas!” Her voice grew shriller the faster she spoke. If Alabaster hadn’t known any better, he would’ve thought that Whisper had lost a puppy or something.

Little Whisper was like a bolt of lightning as she darted for the door, but was quickly halted as Alabaster grabbed hold of her tail with his teeth.

“Just hold on a second, Wisp!” He shouted through a mouthful of hair. “This is no reason to panic. Besides, I know he’ll show back up after a little while.” Once he was confident that the fevered mare wouldn’t bolt again, Alabaster released her tail and spat out the few stray hairs tangled around his tongue.

“And how’s that?” Whisper gave him a look that echoed her tone of disbelief.

Alabaster smiled wildly as he answered, “Because, I feel like we really connected at dinner last night, you know? Yep, me and ol’ Midnight got pretty chummy!” The mare’s mouth dropped, but he continued on before she could question him.

“You would’ve been proud, Wisp! We chatted about old loves, lost friends, shit he couldn’t remember, and-- good grief, Wisp, he couldn’t have gone far. He left his crap over there!” Alabaster jabbed a hoof to the far corner where Midnight’s dusty saddlebag laid.

“Oh…” Whisper blinked. “How did I miss that?”

“Yeah,” Alabaster yawned, trudging wearily over to the window. “How indeed.” The stallion’s jesting demeanor melted away, leaving him sleep drunk once again.

The sunlight made him draw back for a moment, his unadjusted eyes aching, but soon enough he was able to gaze out without having to squint.

“Do you think it’ll be fine for him to just be wandering around?” The look of concern on Whisper’s face when she asked that made Alabaster cringe. It seemed petty, but it was difficult seeing her so worried about someone other than him.

“I’m sure he’ll be okay. Besides, it’s not like I can fault the guy. In fact, I’m about to go see what’s what in this place as well.”

Whisper bristled at that. “That wouldn’t happen to include the inside of a saloon, would it, Al? I thought we settled this yesterday.”

“Easy there, Wisp,” Alabaster defended himself, turning from the window to give the besmirched mare a disarming smile. “I’m just going to hit up some stores and see what I can get for cheap. We still need to replace our canteens, just in case we happen to find ourselves thrown out of town again-”

“But that’s not going to happen, is it?” She asked, her venomous words promising a world of pain.

Alabaster shrugged and continued, “Plus… it’ll give me a chance to keep an eye on that Midnight guy.”

Whisper rolled her eyes. “You don’t need to worry about him, Al. If he seems strange, it’s just because he’s confused. I can understand that feeling better than most.” Heat rose to her cheeks when Alabaster laughed at her.

“I don’t doubt your judge of character, Wisp. Really, I don’t! But… I’m just saying that we didn’t make it this far by being careless, you know?”

“True,” Whisper conceded with a scowl. “But I wouldn’t exactly say we played everything safe, either, especially considering trouble just  _happens_  to find its way to you.”

Alabaster’s mouth opened to shoot back a retort, but his voice died somewhere in his throat.

“Well… damn. That’s not a bad point, I guess.” When he noticed the devious glint in Whisper’s eyes, he added, “But that doesn’t change a thing! I haven’t figured out how I feel about this guy yet, and I’ll keep watch over him until I do!”

_I guess that’s fair enough,_  Whisper thought. She wished that she could find a better way to explain to Alabaster why she was so drawn to the quiet stallion. He was lost and he needed someone to help guide him through the uncertainty he was facing.  _It hurts how much he reminds me of myself…_ When Whisper didn’t say anything more, Alabaster returned his attention back to the window.

Though Alabaster didn’t see it, Whisper gave him a small, endearing smile. “Well, I think the hot water has finally managed to build back up from your  _little_  bath last night,” she said, trying to sound upbeat. “So I think I’ll go get one for myself.” She had only made it to the doorway of the bathroom when Alabaster spoke again.

“Not so fast. There’s one last thing I need to talk to you about.” Change had fallen over the stallion again, and this time just as sudden. He looked at her with eyes that spoke only of sadness, his frown stretched paper thin. Whisper’s stomach dropped as she realized what was about to come.

Alabaster struggled to find his words for a few seconds, but eventually said, “Look, I know you don’t want to hear this, but… it’s been a good couple of weeks since you last... you know… fed…” Whisper was quick to try and interject, but her friend wasn’t having any of it.

“Please, just stop it, Wisp,” he groaned. “We can’t keep fighting each other on this shit. For years now I’ve had to force feed you like a damn child, and frankly, I’m just sick of it… No. More.” He punctuated the last two words with a stomp of his hoof.

“Al, please, I’m fine! Truly, I-”

“No! We’re not in the Dragon Lands anymore. What happened at Dodge Junction is proof that things can go wrong at the drop of a hat. I need you full so that you’re able to deal with whatever this damn place throws at us.”

“Please, I-” The words left her as her throat began to tighten up. Deep down, she knew he was right. Whisper needed to start feeding more. But what would the cost be? Every time he made her feed, it always put her friend through such great misery.

Alabaster had to avert his eyes when he noticed her rubbing away a few strays tears. “If not for yourself, do it because it would put me at ease. Okay? Please?” Whisper grinded her teeth, wishing she could say something to sway him, but allowed herself to nod stiffly.

“Good,” he sighed, feeling no small amount of triumph. Convincing Whisper to come to sense about this always felt like he was pulling teeth.

He walked past her at the door and added, “I think it’s best if we get this over with as soon as possible, yeah?” There was a sudden click as he switched on the deadbolt.

“Wait- what!” Whisper spun around in a panic, her voice raising an octane or two. “You don’t mean  _right_  now, do you?” Alabaster stared back at her flatly.

“You want Midnight to travel with us, right? With a plus one hanging around, that means you have to take every opportunity you can to feed.  _Every opportunity_. If you can’t manage that, than we should just kick him to the curb right now.”

Using Midnight as leverage against his best friend made Alabaster feel absolutely rotten, but it was just what he needed to insure that Whisper would stop fighting with him so much.

“That’s not necessary,” she said swiftly, Alabaster’s comment wounding her. “You’ve made your point… let’s just do this quickly…”

“Exactly what I’ve been trying to say,” Alabaster muttered, not even trying to be subtle anymore.

Whisper shook her head as she crawled back into bed. It took her a few minutes to make herself comfortable. Glancing to her side, she noticed Mr. Smiles beaming up at her. There was a stab of shame as she pushed him under one of the pillows. She never allowed Mr. Smiles to play witness when she fed, perhaps out of the fear that he would lose what little innocence that remained in Whisper’s life.

Alabaster lingered at the foot of the bed, his eyes glued to the floor. With a heavy sigh, Whisper cleared everything from her mind. A moment later, a sickly green light illuminated the room as she began to change. Luckily, she had enough energy left in her to perform the transformation, though not without any difficulty. The hunger pains from the night before returned with a vengeance, raking at with claws of icy steel.

The transformation lasted only seconds, but the difference in her appearance was unbelievable. Her dark blue coat had become the color of a fiery blaze, while her cutie mark was replaced with what appeared to be freshly fallen rose petals. The long braids of her mane receded until they ended just above the nape of her neck and became a light pink. Once finished, the horrid wrenching in her gut slowly ebbed away.

“A-all right,” she said shakily, her voice sounding lower than it did a moment before. “I’m done.”

When Alabaster found the courage to look up, a shiver crept ran its icy talons down his spin. The pony lying before was no longer Little Whisper, but a ghost from a life long lost. Swallowing the lump in his throat, the quivering pegasus carefully pushed himself onto the bed. He inched his way to her, his gaze never once leaving her’s.

There was no worse feeling imaginable than what Whisper felt when she saw the mixture of love and grief that clouded Alabaster’s eyes. Though it hurt her more than she’s ever let on, she masked it with a comforting smile.

Once Alabaster was only a breath away, Whisper gingerly wrapped her forelegs around his neck and pulled him closer. Though tears began to brim on the corner of his eyes, he gladly allowed himself to fall into her tender embrace.

They laid like that for some time; Whisper on her back and running a loving hoof through his mane, Alabaster nuzzling up to her chest and clinging tighter than a nursing foal.  _Just do it, Wisp,_  she urged herself.  _Drink deep and be done with it._

Whisper’s eyes started to glow an iridescent green as she opened her mind to Alabaster’s emotions. The first and most dominant emotion she noticed was, of course, love. It washed over her like a crimson flood, making her mouth water and her stomach grumble with hunger. She only just managed to resist the primal urge to just jump right in and begin devouring the delicious feast before her. It definitely wouldn’t be hard for her to lose herself to that lust for love. But even if Alabaster did carry an overabundance of love, Whisper refused to treat him with anything less than the utmost care and attentiveness.

The second emotion she sense was anger. She couldn’t help but shudder at the quiet whirlwind of fury that was germinating beneath all that love. In truth, Whisper knew that no pony alive should be able to carry that much rage in their heart. Yet, Alabaster had shouldered it for years as if it was just another saddlebag. To say that this worried her was an understatement. However, there was nothing that could be done about it, not when Alabaster always refused to acknowledge it.  _Not now, I neeeeed to feed!_

The first trickle of love was almost orgasmic, and it nearly brought Whisper to the verge of moaning as it seized her senses. Her eyes rolled back as pleasant rivulets of warmth swam to her extremities. Alabaster tightened his hold on her as she burrowed deeper into his heart.

“Rosemary-” he whispered, almost sobbingly. “I’m so sorry… so, so sorry.” A warm tear streamed down the corner of his eye, but was wiped away as he nuzzled her soft, red fur. Whisper was too enraptured by the banquet of love to notice his delirious mumblings.

Later on, after the feeding session had concluded, Little Whisper would hate herself for being so glutinous. For many years, she struggled to deny that damned thirst for love. Sadly though, the lust ran deep, even deeper than blood. It scared her to think that, just maybe, the Changeling’s hunger ran down to her very soul.


	5. Cutting Edge

While the southern reaches of Equestria were a scorching inferno, the far North was a freezing deathtrap. Bitter winds, flying like icy daggers through the air, swept over the long stretches of barren land. It took a hardened kind of pony to brave the steely chill that gnawed at flesh and chewed bones into icicles. It took an even harder equine to call this wintry region home, especially in the difficult times Equestria was facing.

Though it was not yet winter, a light blanket of snow gripped the countryside in a shivery clintch.The main road running between the Northern City and the Crystal Empire was kept clear by the trampling hooves of caravans and merchants alike as they plodded from one great city to the other, searching for wherever business thrived the most. This made it much easier on a team of work horses as they pulled their weather beaten stagecoach along.

Sitting snugly inside were ponies of nobility, all garbed in thick, lavish coats to help fend off the biting edge in the air. The pony heading this convoy was a hard and aging mare by the name of Snow Dew. Her bleached mane and coat echoed her namesake. Sitting rather closely to her sides were two burly stallions, her cousins in fact, who had about them an air of aristocracy. Wherever their narrow eyes looked, disparage usually seemed to follow.

Despite the silver that came bestowed upon the highborn, these northern ponies were harsh folk with sour demeanors that had been tempered by the blizzarding cold of the Equestrian winterland. Yet, is was this same group of ponies that looked like frightened foals as they sat crammed together like a can of sardines, staring in utter fear at the griffin sitting opposite of them.

Snow Dew cleared her throat nervously, startling her kin, and pushed some snowy mane from her eyes. “S-so Mister Quill, how long have you been enlisted in the Equestrian Guard’s services?” The griffon’s smokey colored feathers ruffled at the sound of her voice.

When he turned those keen, hawkish eyes on Snow Dew, her heart pounded and scrapped at the inside of her chest. Quill knew very well the effect his fearsome appearance had on the ponies, but he felt no shame in taking pleasure in it.  _No matter the might of your magic or the reach of your princesses, you ponies are still creatures of prey._  Perhaps most of his amusement stemmed from the fact that these ponies were nobility, and there was just something beautiful about watching nobility squirm.

“Sorry, ma’am, but you must have me mistaken,” Quill said politely, his accent as thick and sweet as honey on his voice. “My claws fight only for me. My obligation to the Guard is one of contract.” Disgust quickly germinated across the face of one of the stallions at Snow Dew’s side.

“You’re a mercenary?” the nobile asked in aghast disbelief. “Prince Shining Armor would send bloody mercenaries in place of actual members of the Guard?”

Quill responded with with a hearty chuckle that filled the drafty stagecoach like a breath of spring, even though it only worked to send chills down the ponies’ spines. “Silly lordling, did you think I was simply hiding my uniform somewhere? That I wasn’t wearing it cause I didn’t want it to get wrinkled?”

 

Actually, the noble ponies had spent so much effort cowering and fretting in the griffin’s presence that they hadn’t given much thought to his peculiar choice in apparel. After he had showed them his papers - which had been stamped with the royal seal as confirmation - they offered the terrifying predator no resistance. This only further confirmed the portrait Quill had painted in his mind of the Equestrian nobility, which was that they were no more than pampered sheep that could be lulled and cooed into submission with nothing more than a piece of paper stamped with wax.

The cousins, trying their best to act as protectors for their noble kin, bristled at Quill’s air of joviality. “We would have never stood for such an offense if we had known beforehand! It is common knowledge how fickle you mercenaries are when it comes to the matter of coin!”

“How funny you say that,” Quill purred facetiously, eliciting a scowl from the noble, “when the very reason I was hired was because so many of your precious Guard have deserted, leaving them lacking in might and numbers. I find it even more humorous that they abandoned their oaths because all of  _you_  have nearly taxed them into extinction.” The laughter fled from Quill’s eyes, and the noble pony felt his bowels quake at the hungry gaze the griffin fixed him with.  _Where's your fight now, eh?_

“So, my little lordling, should you be looking for someone to lay blame on for this odd arrangement, I suggest you turn it elsewhere from me. To the ponies sitting at your side, perhaps?”

“He is right, cousin,” Snow Dew said quickly. Though the bird of prey had been quite well humored and polite through the journey so far, she dared not test to see how far the boundaries of his patience stretched.

She continued dolefully, “This is one of the reasons why the landsmeet has been called, to try and sort out this mess before it gets even worse.” Her cousin said no more after that, nor did he even spare the griffin so much as a glance. That comforted her, somewhat.

The mare’s gaze lingered questioningly on Quill --whose smile had returned like a thrown boomerang coming full circle -- before lowering it to the filly sitting beside him. The child was bundled in a black cloak, not entirely unlike the one Quill wore, except that it had been tailored to fit her petite body. Snow Dew figured that the filly couldn’t have been older than twelve years, barely old enough to have her cutie mark.

During the start of their journey, the noble mare had thought it a bit odd that the griffin would be bringing along a child as a companion. However, that was when she had believed Quill to be a part of the Guard. Snow Dew had quickly looked over the issue, though, as she remembered that higher ranking officers in the Equestrian Guard were usually shadowed by apprentices. That’s exactly what she thought the griffin was, a high ranking officer. Now that she knew the truth of the mercenary, the filly seated next to him troubled the older mare deeply.

The filly’s coat was a fair peach color and her mane was a light shade of pink. Snow Dew thought of how much lovelier she would look swathed in fine silks instead of the abrasive armor fastened to her.

When the noble mare inquired about the filly’s identity and presence on such a dangerous venture, incorporating as much ladylike politeness as possible, he responded with little more than a smile.

“Worry not, my lady, she’s a dear friend of mine and a very capable pony.” Though she didn’t stop worrying, she refrained herself from asking any more questions for a short bit. Snow Dew figured that Prince Shining Armor must have known what he was doing when he hoof picked these two for the task.

“Your  _friend_  doesn't talk much,” Snow Dew said after a long silence. “She hasn’t even introduced herself. Could I possibly have her name, please?”

Quill didn’t answer right away. For a time, the trotting of hooves and the creaking of the stagecoach wheels bumping along were the only sounds made.

“Sweetie,” Quill said at last to the filly, “This nice mare would like to know your name. Why don’t you introduce yourself?”

To Snow Dew’s surprise, the filly looked at the mercenary with a scowl. It seemed very unlikely to the mare that any pony would ever give that griffin such a look. Yet here was this brave little filly, staring down the bird of prey as if he were a colt that had tried to steal her lunch.

Turning that sour gaze to the mare, the filly said, “My name is Speira.” Four words, then the filly gave a toss of her mane before returning her attention to the frozen countryside outside.

Quill chuckled at a gaping Snow Dew. “You’ll have to forgive her, ma’am, traveling always manages to make her cross.”

“That’s… quite alright,” the noble-pony assured him, though her cousins seemed a bit more put off by the child’s rudeness. “Does she always travel with you on excursions?”

“Oh yes!” Quill beamed with no small amount of pride. “Little Speira here is quite the helper. Aren’t you, dear?” That earned another healthy dose of stinkeye from the filly, but it was only met with a chuckle and a ruffle of her mane.

Snow Dew felt her stomach squinch as she wondered how Speira could be of any use to a mercenary. The mother in her wanted to cry out, to save the filly from this hired blade, but the diplomat within urged her to bite her tongue. Nothing good would come from confronting Quill...or at least it is an endeavour that best be put off till she is safely within the reach of the Crystal Empire and its guards.

“WHOA!” The single word sliced through the air like a razor blade, and with it the entire stagecoach came to a screeching halt. Pony and griffin alike were sent colliding into each other, creating quite the tangle of limbs. It was a miracle that Quill’s talons hadn’t hurt anyone.

As everyone worked to untangle from each other, the lead pony of the pull team -- the same one who brought the coach to a halt with a single work -- yelled out again.

“Mister Quill, you might want to see this!”

***

A few yards ahead of the stagecoach, five figures stood blocking the stagecoach’s way. The ponies, each one shivering, wore tattered garbs that seemed to do little against the harsh cold. Despite that, however, their posture remained tall and erect. A murderous glint shone in the eyes of a few of them, revealing less than friendly intentions.

The door to the coach swung open with a bang as Quill exited, making sure to take his sweet time as he did so. His cloak tugged and protested as the harsh winds buffeted him with bitter greetings. On the other side, Speira lept out with a thud. Quill rolled his eyes as he heard the filly scramble back onto her hooves and rush over to his side.  _So afraid she’s going to miss something._

Snow Dew’s head popped out of the door Quill exited from, her expression none too pleased to see how quick Speira was to throw herself in harm’s way. “Little missy, you get back here! Fillies shouldn’t-”

“IN!” Quill ordered, pointing a particular deadly looking talon at the diplomat. Gone was any traces of warmth he had once carried in his voice. This was the mercenary talking now. Snow Dew gave a loud  _eep!_ before vanishing back into the depths of the stagecoach.  _This is why I charge double for nobility…_

“They look like bandits,” the lead stallion said with a shaky breath once the mercenaries had joined him. “I know we have them outnumbered, but there’s no way we could get unharnessed in time if they decided to jump us.”

That was all true, but that wasn’t the main reason why these stallions wouldn't eager to rush to the griffin’s aid should things get physical. Quill could see the fear pooling in the ponies’ eyes as clearly as he could see if words were written in the snow. It was a fear that would only make the stallions worse than useless in a fight.  _Prey_ , the mercenary thought again. He realizes that it is for the best, though. There is the very real chance that these aren’t simply bandits, but instead Renegades, deserters from the Equestrian Guard. These work ponies wouldn’t stand a chance against decorated soldiers such as those.

The cool smile the griffin wore sent shivers down the lead stallion’s spine. “Don’t you worry, me and my friend can take care of things well enough.”

Quill turned from the stallion and faced the problem at hand.  _They’re thin, malnourished even. Shouldn’t be much of an issue if things come to blows. However… the unicorn could be troublesome._  As he slowly began to make his way to the ponies before him, his mind fired at all pistons as he calculated the battle in his mind. This took only seconds, and he had formulated the results by the time he stopped quarterway between them and the coach. Everything appeared to be in his favor.

“Hello there!” He called to the strange ponies. “You seem to be blocking the way, my friends. If you were to step aside, it would be greatly appreciated!”

“We ain’t your friends, bird!” An earth pony rasped at him, sounded as if he had developed a case of the sniffle. “And we ain’t moving till you hoof over all your valuable little trinkets!” Quill eyed the speaker hawkishly and Speira did the same.  _If they haven’t attacked us yet then they must think we could pose some kind of threat… or maybe they just don’t want to outright attack civilians._  He had a difficult time remembering that not everyone had the capability of being as ruthless as he.

Diplomacy was not out of the question for the mercenary, and he would actually prefer it if truth be told. If these would-be robbers could be talked down from making the biggest mistake of their lives then it would save him from a major headache when they arrived at the Crystal Empire.

“Do you know who rides in this coach? Noblemare Snow Dew, Governess of the Northern City. She is expected at the Crystal Empire by request of Princess Mi Amore Cadenza and Prince Shining Armor. The ramifications of threatening such a pony would be… dire. Leave now and I promise that none of your transgressions will be held against you.” To his dismay, each of the bandits began to grow a wicked smile.

“You here that boss?” another one cried. “A Governess! That means twice the shinies for us to take!”

Quill clicked his beak in annoyance. “I’m warning you, acts of aggression against the riders or drivers of this coach will be met with swift and deadly retribution.”

“Oh yeah? Well, same goes for you if you want to keep on playing hero. Gonna cook you up and dress you for Hearth’s Warming!” The group of bandits fell into a fit of hysterics. Each pony of the pull team gave the other an uneasy glance, wondering to themselves just what they were about to lay witness to.

“Really?” the mercenary asked, his tone turning defiant.

“Yeah, really!” His words cut the others laughter short, and he pointed over to the unicorn mare. “My friend over there was a pyromancer for the Scholars of Magic. You know what that means? She knows a hundred different ways to turn your feathery ass into cinder. So as I said, surrender if you know what’s good for you!”

Quill shook his head and looked to the filly at his side. “Let this be today’s lesson, Speira. How long will it take for you to dispatch these delinquents?”

Her eyes flickered back once more to the bandits. They waited anxiously, secretly hoping that they wouldn’t really have to do battle with anyone. And like the predator Quill raised her to be, she smelt their trepidation like blood in the water.

“Twenty seconds,” she finally responded, shifting a bit in her cloak.

The griffon sighed disapprovingly, “My dear, how many times must I tell you?  _Never_ underestimate your opponent.” Speira glowered, but crunched numbers again anyway.

“Thirty-five seconds, sir.”

“Aye, that sounds a bit more accurate. Best to get to it then, my dear. No need to be any more behind schedule than we already are. Beside, those workhorses might freeze if they remain in place for too much longer.” She needed no more prompting. This is what she had been breed for.

“You can’t be serious!” the leader yelled, each of his rogues echoing his bewildered expression. “You’re really gonna fight us? And you’re sending a filly to-” His words died as Speira undid the clasp around her neck and allowed the cloak to be torn free be a gust of wind. The filly was leeth and surprisingly long legged for her age. What had caught the bandits attention was the armored chestplate that encased her upper body. Upon the armor’s smooth, ebony surface were glowing veins of deep red. The veins pulsed, a rhythm that eerily mirrored the beating of a slowing heart.

“Dear Celestia,” the unicorn gasped. “Those are enchantment lines! Her armor is enchanted!” Suddenly, the cracks in the bandit's bravado grew to fissures. They looked to one another, uncertain and afraid.

“Well just don’t stand there!” the leader exclaimed, trying to reign in control over the situation. “Fry the bitch!”

The unicorn didn’t have to be told twice. A sheath of magic encased her ivory horn, a ball of fire forming at its tip within seconds. With a sentence of a heartbeat’s stutter, it grew that much more. By the time Speira was halfway between the two parties, the sphere of flames must have been the size of a large melon.

“What are you waiting for? Kill her!” The stallion was nearly foaming at the mouth now. Quill watched on with a wicked smirk of his own.

The quieter sounds of the world all went silent as a deafening roar ripping through the air, a small torrent of fire rocketing at Speira with ungodly speed. Blink and you would’ve missed it. Where once there was a filly, the explosion tore the ground asunder like a massive hoof kicking aside an anthill. Quill had to avert his gaze to shield his eyes from the debris that had been sent sailing in every direction. Heat licked the side of his face like a raunchy lover. A chorus of screams sang from somewhere behind him, the pull team falling over themselves as they tried in vain to scramble from the ensuing insanity.

For a brief moment, victory had seemed secured. The only thing left of the filly was a smoldering crater the size of a stagecoach. Surely no one could survive such a devastating blow, could they?

Just as the wiry leader, grinning ear to ear, was about to order the unicorn to do the same to the griffin, a shadow fell over his face. Looking up, what he saw made his bowels quake and release. Hovering above the aggressing party like a eagle drifting in a tailwind was Speira, metallic wings spreading from her back to reveal a deadly plumage. The feather, each one joined together by the magic coursing through her armor, was a deadly knife that glinted murderously in the sun’s half life gaze.

The stallion had only enough time to yell “What-” before Speira fell upon him. Her right wing sank deeply into the him, rendering his unguarded flesh a part like warm butter. To the ground he dropped, like doll left torn and broken on the side of a road.

All heads spun around to find that a filly now stood where their boss had been moments ago. Warm blood decorated the black canvass that was her armor. Thick globs of the stuff even managed to find its way onto her face, appearing as if it were war paint smeared on with an unsteady hoof. Everything grew unnaturally still. Not even the breeze dared to shift. Speira’s eyes narrowed, honing in on the pony closest to her. Another earth pony.

She was up in the air before anyone had yet to gather their senses, pivoting and pirouetting as the wings twisted around her as she soared. It was as if the metallic appendices were really apart of her. The next pony fell just as easily as the last. Cotton yielded no protection against enchanted steel, and none of the unruly rogues certainly had the skill or speed to match Speira. Her wings worked meticulously, each cut finding major arteries or tendons.

It was far too late to put up any fight by the time they recovered from their initial shock. Half of their numbers had been felled, and Speira looked to only be warming up.

They managed to cluster together, gathering their remaining forces as she paused long enough to give her neck a stretch, before charging the filly with as much ferocity and regard to safety as a mad pack of wolves.There was even a battle cry.  _How cute._  Those cries of adrenaline fueled rage turned to cries of pain as Speira quickly spun, wings outstretched. All the bandits achieved in their brief display of courage was giving the filly the ability to hit them all at once. There was a mist of arterial spray that rained down over the road, then they began to fall one by one.

Within seconds the would-be attackers laid in a heap around the filly, their blood pooling and steaming in the cold northern air. Speira turned from the corpses, to Quill, and gave a confident smirk. Twenty seconds. She began to trot back, expecting the praise that she had so rightly earned.  _How long till I pluck out that overconfidence from you, my dear?_

As if to validate the griffin’s worries, Speira had failed to notice the bleak form rising behind her. The half-dead unicorn struggled upright, one hoof pressed tightly to the wound on her chest. Though her wounds were not so fatal as her companions, she knew the end drew close for her. The cold numbness spreading through her body like a fever was proof of that. However, she had just enough energy to at least ensure that she didn’t go alone. No. She was going to take the filly with her.

Fire built up in tendrils around her horn, just like before, but before her spell came into full fruition, a load *crack* split the air like a whip. It was the last sound she heard before the steel bolt slammed into her skull, skewering her brain like a roasted slab of lamb.

Speira whirl back around, just in time to watch as the mare’s expression went slack, a single tear of red weeping from the whole in her head. The hate turned to utter confusion as her world dissolved before her dying eyes. Soon her body followed suit and she crumpled like a house of cards. Speira gritted her teeth and cursed the mare for not staying dead. She knew very well what the mare’s reluctance had just earned the eager to please filly.

“Speira, come here.” The snap of authority in his tone stung her worst than anything the bandits had been capable of. Head hung low, the blood sodded filly trudged back to her mentor.

“Look at me,” Quill ordered when his shadow fell over her. She looked everywhere else first, as if there was something lying about that could shield her from the imperious glare that threatened to squash her. Slowly she complied, lifting her gaze. It paused on the beautifully crafted crossbow nestled deep inside its holster, almost invisible now that it had been folded back into its compact form. Speira had always adored the instrument of death, how small and deadly the thing was. It could fell a foe before they even knew it had been a threat to begin with. Just like her.

When she finally met Quill’s gaze, she saw none of the good humored joviality that had ridden with them in the carriage.

“Rule three, Speira, tell it to me.” His voice stung like ice, so cold that it even threatened to chill the northern winds.

The filly gulped and said, “A fallen enemy is not a defeated one.”  
“Exactly. You still make too many assumptions, and assumptions can move quickly to stab you in the back… or in this case, burn you in the back, I guess… am I making myself clear? I’m not always going to be around to watch over you, or pull you out of the fire.”

She nodded, each word hammering her down till she laid hunkered to the ground. Quill drew a breath, then noticed how his shadow lumbered over her sulking form, swallowing her up like a gumdrop. Though she didn’t cry like most scolded children did, Speira still wore the lashes from his words like a whipped slave. The griffin was rough, but there was no way that he could stay ill with his little pony for long.

“That foul up aside,” He began again, the ice in his breath melting affectionately. “You did perform spectacularly just now. Your pirouette is on point and your form is almost flawless.” Speira perked up, her ears twitching in delight.

“Really?” Quill nodded, chuckling at the spark of joy in her eyes as she spoke.

“Oh yes. I have no doubt that one day, with enough practice and experience, you’ll skills will eventually match that of my own.”  _More than likely surpass them actually, if truth be told, but she needn’t know that. We already have enough trouble with her getting a big head._

Speira beamed up at him, and Quill couldn’t help but feel a twang plucked across his heartstrings. He pulled the filly into an one-armed hug, not caring about the smudges of red it would no doubt leave on his leather armor.

Though her voice was muffled as she nuzzled against him, Quill still heard her loving voice say, “Thank you, papa.”

As the mentor and the student reveled in their tender moment, the team of stallions watched on with broken jaws that must have nearly touched the ground as they gaped.

“Uh... sir?” one said to the captain. “What the hay is going on?”

The captain chewed on his tongue for a moment, before answering flatly, “Haven’t a damn clue, son. Haven’t a damn clue.”

***

“Good mornin’ to ya, young miss! You lookin’ to buy some cabbage today?” Midnight frowned at the grinning earth pony. The older stallion was standing atop a mighty mound of cabbages sitting in a wooden cart. Both were covered with the aging stains of dirt and grime. Not even all the soap and water Equestria could’ve washed the filth that had seeped in that coat.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not a mare.” Midnight spoke politely, but felt himself cringing at the words.  _Do I really look like a girl?_  The stallion’s smile faltered, flickering like a bulb drawing its final breath.

“Well heck,” he snorted, “My seeing ain’t worth a shoot anymore. Sorry about that… Can I still interest ya in some fine cabbages?” Midnight gave him a sheepish smile and shook his head.

“No, thank you, I just come over to ask where the some of the stores are. I’m looking to buy some produce and I can’t quite find my way around.” It felt a little silly admitting this, considering that Appleloosa wasn’t exactly the biggest of towns.

“Why, sir, you’re lookin’ at THE best place in town to get fresh produce! No pone in Appleloosa got better cabbages than old Cabbage Patch!”  _Oh my._  Midnight had to repress a grimace when the old stallion leaped down with a thud and started towards him, his pungent odor liable to strip the black from Midnight’s coat.

“That’s nice, but I’m not really looking to buy cabbages right now. However, if you could just point me in-” The cabbage crazed savant brought his face mere inches from Midnight’s, his green eyes almost swirling with the maddening thoughts of his half-fried brain.

“There something wrong with my cabbages, sir?” Though he still remained civil, an edge had been honed onto his tone.

“What!” Midnight gasped, taking a step back. “I n-never said t-that!”

The merchant only advanced as the timid stallion retreated, matching him step for step. “Ya said you weren’t lookin’ to buy cabbages right now, which sounds awfully like yer holdin’ out to buy from a better stock. Well let me tell ya, there ain’t no better stock of cabbages then mine! None! Notta!”

“I don’t doubt you! I said that because I don’t have any money on me! It’s all back in my room at the inn!” Midnight didn’t know what frightened him more, how quickly the vendor turned feral or how quickly he reverted back to his previous, good mannered self.

“Oh, well why didn’t you say so?” he asked, beaming. “You go on, get yer bits and come on back to Cabbage Patch! I’ll set you up nice! Won’t even need to deal with them  _other_  stores.” The mention of any of other vendor looked like it tasted nasty on Cabbage Patch’s tongue.

“Sure,” Midnight nodded vigorously, tip-toeing around the filthy pony. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind… If you’ll excuse me, my friends are expecting me.”

“Oh, I understand. Just be sure to swing back around and see old-” The stallion was talking to a dust cloud.

It took a few minutes for Midnight’s heart to steady, especially considering that he had dropped to a near sprint moments ago.  _I don’t think I could ever eat cabbage now,_  was the final thought he allowed himself to spare on the deranged cabbage slinger.

Once he felt at a safe distance, he continued to poke around Appleloosa for a bit longer. However, he now watched every pony he passed a bit more wearily. He wasn’t too keen to learn if there were any more ponies as crazy as the one he had just left.

Fortunately, the handfuls of ponies he did pass seemed too absorbed in their own doings to give the timid stallion even a glance. Although, there were a few that did find his oddly blank flank to be quite the queer sight. Midnight watched forlornly as two mares walked by, smiling and chatting, their saddlebags stuffed to the brim with a multitude of colorful fabrics. One of the mares told the other how excited she was about a new stitch pattern a friend taught her.

As the mares chattered, Midnight’s thoughts drew inward. He wondered what kind of hobbies he must have had before all this started. Before he lost his memory. Perusing Inky’s collection of books back at the farm had been fun, but it didn’t bring him anywhere near the joy those two felt for working with fabric. Casting a glance back, he saw their flanks vanish into a doorway. Dwelling on such thoughts would do him no go, he decided. He shook them free and continued on.

A little longer and Midnight found the produce store he had hunted for so aimlessly. Unfortunately, their selection of vegetables seemed to dip more into the disappointing side of variety. What little they had was puny and malnourished, obviously the runts left over from their last shipment.

“Really sorry, sir, but we haven’t had a shipment of vegetables in weeks,” the salesmare explained, wearing an apologetic smile. “The sheriff contacted Canterlot a day or so ago and they’re supposed to send somepony down to look into it. Until then, I can offer you a great deal on apples!”

Somehow that last bit didn’t surprise him. Midnight thanked her and then went about his way, taking note of the store’s location. He would be sure to come back later, even if it was just for apples. Though the farmer’s family had given him only enough bits to get by, he intended to use what he had to help out Whisper and Alabaster.  _At least until they decide that taking me on was a mistake._

With that accomplished, he waded back into the streets. The sun hung high in the sky and it greeted him warmly. Maybe a bit too warmly. Noon was slowly marching towards the present, and the day seemed to heat up with every step it took. Midnight had only been outside for a few minutes when beads of sweat began to beat across his face and back. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think that his fur had been set ablaze by the glare of some cruel goddess of the sun.

It occurred to him as he trudged along that returning back to the room might not be such a bad idea. Whisper and Alabaster were more than likely awake by now and were probably worrying about him.  _Well, Whisper more so than Alabaster._  However, even if the prospect of air conditioning sounded more appealing than all the bits in Equestria, the thought of keeping company did not. Yesterday had wrought too many questions. Questions that weighed heavily upon Midnight, and he feared that being around anyone else would only make them that much more cumbersome.

A fit of laughter erupted from the opposite side of the street. Midnight swung his head around just in time to see a snickering mare and her embarrassed colt exit what appeared to be a diner. The colt had the faint stains of red smeared across his face and chest, a stark contrast to his grassy coat.

“I guess that peanutbutter and jelly sandwich was good enough to wear, huh Skittle?” The mother roared, much to the colt’s aggravation.

“Oh, Mom,” the colt whined. “I’ll tell Dad you’re teasing me if you don’t stop!” This only made the mare double over.

Midnight waited until the couple were gone before examining the eatery. It looked to be about the same size of Sour Apple’s, but far superior in quality. The tables were covered with checkered tablecloths of black and red, and the walls were decorated with syntropic floral designs that branched out every whichaway as it crept around the room. It just ran wild, like colorful weeds on a crimson plane. Even the handful of ponies inside looked like an improvement. Instead of the rugged, labor weary ranchers, the patrons were chipper and attentive to those they dined with.  _Don’t forget the significant lack of Sour Apple._  That must have been the biggest improvement of all.

Observing the diner’s late-morning crowd made Midnight painfully aware that it had been the night before since he last ate. That grilled cheese he ate did little to restore the energy the long trek had sucked from him, and he feared that sandwich was now long gone. The rumble his stomach gave actually confirmed that thought. Midnight wished he hadn’t left his saddlebags back in the room, but there was nothing to be done now. Whisper and Alabaster had been so tired that he didn’t want to wake them with the sounds of his fussing with the saddlebag’s straps. There was that reason, and the fact that his sides had been rubbed sore from wearing the damn thing all day. Another second in that thing and he would’ve been left with blisters the size of his hoofs.

“Well well well, If I had a bit for every time I’d seen that look of hunger on the face of a pony than I’d be one rich buck.”

Midnight nearly leapt free of his skin at the sound of the stranger’s voice, however, he was somewhat relieved to find a friendly smile waiting for him as he turned. That relief quivered when he found himself having to look up just to find that smile. A gaunt stallion, who must have stood about a head taller than Midnight, beamed down at the timid pony. His sweat slicken coat was the color of a dying flame and his crimson mane fall down his back in a bedheaveled mass. What caught the smaller stallion’s attention, though, was the newcomer’s bloodshot eyes and the heavy bags underneath.  _Does this guy ever sleep? He almost looks half as bad as Sour Apple._

“My apologies if I spooked you,” the stranger said amiably. “I just thought to myself how often I’ve seen that same expression on countless other hungry ponies. Heck, I’ve worn in more than a time or two myself.”

“Oh, that’s quite alright.” Midnight smiled meekly, his long bangs almost hiding him and his embarrassment from the stallions gaze. When he didn’t add anything else to that, leaving the two ponies to just shift and stare awkwardly at one another, the much more sociable stranger decided to introduce himself.

“Er… the name’s Gavell, friend. I must say, it is quite refreshing to meet another traveler such as myself. We’re a rare breed in these parts.”

“H-how-” Midnight tried with difficulty to weave his words together. “How do you know I’m a traveler?” Much to the timid stallion’s unease, Gavell’s smile widened.

“You really don’t know? Well, it’s not that hard to deduce. Not for somepony as road weary as me, anyway. You see, I noticed a moment ago that you stepped with a slight gimp. That suggested that you’re saddle sore from walking for so long with a saddlebag that don’t quite fit you right.”  _Well, it does pinch a bit now that I think about it._

Gavell continued in oblivious enthusiasm. “I’ve observed that the ranchers around here don’t wear their saddlebags often enough to rub them raw, so that rules you out as one of them. But I guess the biggest giveaway was… you kind of told.” Gavell couldn’t help but laugh when a flush kissed Midnight’s cheeks.

“Oh… I guess I did, didn’t I?”.

“No harm, no foul, my friend. I’m just curious why you’re moping around out here when the food is in there. That is what’s got you lurking around out here, isn’t it?”

“Well, I kind of left my saddlebag back at my room, so… yeah.”

Gavell went deadpan as he glanced at Midnight’s obviously bare back. “Right. That would explain it. Maybe I’m not as observant as I boast, huh? Tell you what, though, whoever you are-”

“Midnight,” he interjected, cringing as he thought that it might’ve been a mistake giving his name away so quickly to some pony he just met. “My name is Midnight. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Oh! Well then, right back at you, Midnight!” Gavell gave a low bow, almost headbutting Midnight as he did so. “As I was saying. I’ll make a deal with you, Midnight. You’re obviously famished. I, on the other hoof, am horrible hungry for company.”

“Um… Excuse me?” Midnight took a step back and eyed the pony skeptically.

This only made Gavell beam as he laid a hoof on the other stallions shoulders. “My offer is that I’ll treat the two of us to a nice meal and you engage with me the splendid act of conversing!”

Midnight backtracked, at least far enough so that Gavell could no longer touch him. There was something about this pony that deeply unnerved him. Though Gavell’s words were warm and hospitable, his eyes betrayed the facade. They were vigilant and knowing. Almost hawkish. They pried at Midnight as if he was a busted plank needing to be yanked up.

“Tell me, is it common for one traveler to pay for a another’s meal? Especially if they’re strangers? Forgive me for asking, it just seems like talking is a terrible trade for paying for my meal.” As polite as he sounded, there was no way Midnight could mask the mistrust in his voice. If Cabbage Patch was any indication, getting too friendly with newly an acquainted pony could be a cocktail of disaster just waiting to spill.

Gavell chuckled at the question. “Oh, my friend, you wound me! If you’ve had as many silent and boring dinners as I’ve had over the years, I think you’d come to truly appreciate how much good company is for the soul. Heavy is the burden we wayfarers carry, and I fear it only gets heavier with every mile we walk. That’s why it’s good to share it once in awhile with another, you know?.”

“And you think I’m good company?”

“Of course! I can tell by how polite you’ve been. Most ponies I try to get to know on the dusty trail tend to skirt around me, but you were decent enough to at least introduce yourself.”

It was foolish, like accepting candy from a stranger. Yet, when Midnight thought about it, that’s almost exactly what he was considering. The logic in his mind warred with the grinding pain in his gut. Within seconds, the battle was decided when his stomach gave a victorious growl. Midnight sighed and allowed his better judgment to be put to rest at the prospect of free food.  _Alabaster would probably do the same,_  he reasoned.  _Then again, I really shouldn’t base my decisions off of what Alabaster would do, should I?_

***

Though Midnight made sure to keep a watchful eye on his new friend, he quickly found himself distracted as he passed through the threshold of the restaurant's door. The decadent scents of pastries, baked breads, and other succulent goodies assaulted his nostrils as if they were conga drums.

“Welcome to the Shady Apple!” a waitress called out from across the room, giving them a quick wave. “Just take a seat and I’ll be there in a jiffy!”

Gavell waved back as he closed the door behind them. “So, Midnight, table or booth?” When the only reply he received was an indifferent shrug, the rambler decided to take charge as he pointed to the far back. “Alright then, I spy a booth back there that looks pretty inviting. I hope that’s alright?” Gavell lead the way to a rather lonely looking booth stuffed in the corner that seemed so distant from the other patrons. The nearest ponies were an elderly couple that say about four tables away.

“Well,” Gavell started as they slid onto their seats. “This place is rather quaint, isn’t it? Has an almost rustic kind of charm to it. Then again, rustic pretty much sums up Appleloosa as a whole. That said, I still wish more towns I pass through had a little place like this.”

“So you’ve seen a good bit of Equestria?”

“Oh, I’ve seen more than just a bit, my young friend. There’s not too much this country has to offer that I haven’t seen. From the cold harbors of Manehattan to the hanging gardens of Canterlot, and even off to the lonesome reaches of Vanhoover. You name it, and there’s a good chance I’ve seen it twice!”  _That would probably be a bit more impressive if I knew anything about those places._

Midnight tapped his hooves together for moment before asking, “If you don’t mind me asking, is there a particular reason why you travel so much? It doesn’t seem like the kind of life that anyone would just choose.”

Midnight could have imagined it, but the smile Gavell wore seemed to falter.

“I don’t mind you asking at all. This is why I asked you to join me, isn’t it? But yes, there’s a good reason indeed. I guess you can say that I’m looking-”

“Well, howdy there, you two!” Both of the stallions were given quite the start at the mare’s sudden arrival. “What can I start ya’ll off to drink with today?” The waitress practical sang as she spoke, her merry attitude radiating off her like a summer fever. Midnight eyed her, his gaze wandering from her violet coat to the ember eyes almost hidden by the bangs of a black mane. It seemed unnatural how quietly she trotted up on their table. He had to glance down to make sure her hooves actually touched the floor and weren’t just hovering above the tile squares like some kind of ghost.

Gavell bit his lower lip and gave the question some serious thought. “Hmm… You know what, I’ll have a glass of warm cider, please. With a hint of vanilla extract, if you have it.”

mare’s horn lit up as a notepad, a pencil, and two menus levitated to her side.  _Wait… Where did those came from? That apron she’s wearing doesn’t have pockets._  She looked to Midnight as her pencil jotted Gavell’s order.

“And for you, sweetie?”

Midnight frowned. “Er… I’ll just have a glass of water, thank you.”

Gavell shook his and gave a disappointed *tisk*. “My friend will have the same as me, my dear. Also, if you wouldn’t mind, we’ll be on the same bill today.”

“Alrighty then,” she sang, her pencil finishing with a flurry. “I’ll be back in a few ticks with your drinks. By the way, my name’s Lavender Springs. If you need me before I get back, just give me a shout!” With that, she bounded off towards the kitchen on silent hooves. True to her name, the sweet scent of lavender was left clinging to the air even minutes after she departed.

“Well, she seems like a nice, young mare.” Gavell watched after her for a second before redirecting his attention to Midnight, where he found the quiet stallion frowning at him.

“What is it? Oh, you’re not sore at me for ordering your drink, are you? I just thought your palate might appreciate something a little more flavorful than just water. Besides, not to play the ‘good samaritan’ card, this is my treat.”

Trying not dwell on it, Midnight leafed through the menu the waitress had left with little interest. He just figured that any food would be good food, especially if someone else was paying for it.

Any and all conversation ceased as they both scanned the aging, yellowed pages. After a few minutes of searching, Midnight’s eyes lingered the longest on the dish labeled  _Hashbrown Casserole_. He remembered one morning during his stay at the rock farm how the farmer’s wife had set a steaming plate of hashbrowns in front of him for breakfast. His mouth watered and his nostrils flared, every sense he possessed overloading. Midnight was wiping the corners of his mouth when Lavender Springs reappeared.

“Here ya go, fellas!” She levitated a glass to either stallion, both were filled to the rim with a sweet smelling concoction that left Midnight’s nose tingling. The notepad and pencil were quickly summoned once more.

“Did ya’ll need a moment longer, or were ya’ll ready to order?”

“Well, I know I’m read,” Gavell said while Midnight just nodded.

His mind long made up, Midnight ordered the hashbrown casserole while his new acquaintance asked for a garden salad. She took both orders in rapid succession and was trotting back towards the kitchen faster than they could say ‘refill’.

“So,” Gavell sighed. “What was it exactly we were talking about before we got our menus? I think our hunger got the best of us.”

Midnight was peering over the rim of his tall glass as he said, “Why you are traveling across Equestria.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right.” Gavell took a long draft from his glass and gave a small shudder. “Wow, that’s good stuff! Anyway, I guess the answer to that question is a bit… complicated.”

“How so?” There was a pause as Gavell contemplated.

“You’ll probably think I’m a bit weird if I tell you.”

“Well, I already think you’re weird for buying food for someone you don’t even know, so … not that I don’t appreciate it, of course! It just seems like you don’t have much to worry about at this point...” Gavell chuckled as Midnight flushed at his own boldness.

“You speak the truth, Midnight, I like that! Not many others can boast such a thing. If you really want to know, I’m searching for somepony.”

“Oh… I don’t see why I’d find that weird.”  _Then again, do I really have any point of reference for what’s weird in this country? I don’t even think Whisper or Alabaster do either._

Gavell nodded and pushed his drink around as he spoke. “I could see why you’d think that, but you see the kicker is… I’ve never met the pony I’m searching for…” Silence. Dead Silence. Midnight’s train of thought flatlined, and it was only after a few moments of resuscitation did it finally process what Gavell had said.

“Is… are you looking for me?” Midnight’s voice was barely above a whisper, yet the look of apprehension in his eyes spoke in great volume.

The two stared into each other's eyes for what felt like eons, Midnight’s azure fields clashing with Gavell’s brown. Then Gavell’s lips began to tug upward. A smile formed, which soon become a grin, which was shortly followed by a chuckle, which quickly festered into a full fit of laughter.

Midnight tapped his hooves together nervously while Gavell’s dumbstruck expression dissolved into a whirlwind of hilarity. The traveler even almost knocked over his glass as he banged a hoof against the table.

“I guess that I said something funny?”

“I’d say so!” Gavell gasped, doubling over in his seat.

Eventually the stallion found enough composure to allow himself to breathe and sit straight again, but by then poor Midnight’s cheeks had turned the color of a tomato. When he finally managed to settle down and wipe the tears from his eyes, Gavell tried his best to resume his role in the conversation.

“Phew! Forgive me, that just caught me off guard.” He took a deep breath, driving back a few remaining giggles. “No, you’re not pony I’m searching for, Midnight.”

“So... how will you know when you meet this pony? And why are searching for someone you don’t know?”

The stallion drained another portion of his drink to stifle a chuckle. “I’m not too worried on the details, truth be told. I always figured I’d just know whenever we met, you know? Almost like a ‘star crossed’ kind of deal.”

“Actually, no, I don’t know.”

“Oh, that’s unfortunate. Anyway, as to the second question of yours… I’m afraid to say that’s a little too personal, my friend. Besides, it wouldn’t make for good table talk at all.”

Regretting that he even asked the questions in the first place, Midnight massaged his temples and tried to turn his mind on other things. The longer he remained around this stallion, the more he wished that he had just stayed in room eight. Isn’t this the reason why he wanted to be alone for bit longer?  _I really shouldn’t think with my stomach again._

“Maybe I should’ve just kept the questions to myself,” he thought aloud.

“Not at all! This is exactly why I invited you along, to converse with! Come, let’s talk about something else, eh?”

As if to prepare himself, Midnight took a deep gulp from his own glass. The cider tasted far sweeter than the one he had tried at Dodge Junction, but the warmth that exploded in his gut was like a fist full of napalm.

“Alright,” Midnight said with a cough, his cheeks burning like a lover’s kiss. “What should we talk about then?” He just barely managed to stifle a belch.

That was invitation enough for Gavell to jump headlong into stories of his past ventures, almost with the same enthusiasm Alabaster had had. Granted, Gavell’s stories were much more tame when compared to the gruff pegasus’s. A particular favourite of Gavell’s had been the recently reformed Crystal Empire. The traveler spoke rather fondly of the city’s grand spires and elaborate crystal architecture, all of which he said shimmered and sparkled like a thousand tiny gems.

“Some days, when the sky is clear enough, you can even see the gleam of the city from Canterlot!”

Though this made Gavell practically ecstatic, Midnight didn’t share the sentiment. He could only imagine how horrible it would be to live in a city that shined so brightly.  _Wouldn’t that damage their eyesight to live in such a place for so long?_  When he then explained that the ponies who lived there were crystals too, Midnight decided that the Crystal Empire was something he was better off not thinking about. Besides, it wasn’t like Whisper and Alabaster were planning on migrating that far north. Right?

Just as Gavell started on about all of the numerous nightclubs he discovered while trudging through the back alleys of Detrot, their waitress returned with two sizable plates of food floating in tow. “A garden salad and a hashbrown casserole for the two hungry gentlecolts!” Lavender Springs still wore that same unwavering smile. [How can anyone wear a smile like that for so long?] It made Midnight’s cheek sore just thinking about it.

Midnight’s stomach turned savage when the steaming pile of fried potatoes and melted cheese was placed in front of him. The waitress tried to suppress a giggle, but it was still enough to make Midnight blush.

“Seems like I came just in the nick of time,” she said. “You fellas enjoy your meal. I’ll be back in just a second with a refill on your ciders!” That last bit was mainly for Gavell. The glass in front of Midnight had barely been touched at all.

The stallions thanked her as she left, both pausing afterwards to enjoy the lingering scent of lavender. Conversation was put on hold again as the two tucked in. Gavell was nearly wolfing down forkful after forkful of his salad. Though Midnight felt as if he could attack his plateful with just as much gusto, his self conscious nature restrained him to pick daintily at the cheesy mound.

Much to his delight, this casserole was on par with, if not better than, the one served to him back at the farm. Bits of onion and pepper found their way into every other bite, adding flavors that he had never known existed until then. He would definitely have to stop by the diner again before he departed from Appleloosa. Perhaps Whisper and Alabaster would even agree to come as well.

They both enjoyed their meals enough to simply let the scraping of their utensils do the talking for a bit. Lavender Springs came and went, topping off each of their glasses as she did so. When Gavell managed to plow through half of his garden salad, he finally got around to asking Midnight if the hashbrowns were to his liking.

“Yes, it’s really good,” Midnight answered between mouthfuls. “How’s your salad?” The weathered stallion answered in a similar manner.

Gavell didn’t continue eating right away, but instead watched with a cool smile as Midnight did so. “So tell me, friend, any tales you’d like to recant as well? You seem like the kind of pony who’d have some very  _interesting_  experiences to share, am I right? The dark, brooding types always do.”

Midnight’s fork stopped mid-way to his mouth before slowly falling back to his plate. Something was different. That look had returned to Gavell’s eyes. It was a look of knowing that a child might wear when they find out their best friend's secret. But even if there was something mysterious to learn about Midnight, there couldn’t be anyway for Gavell to know about it. He had done most of the talking for the past hour, while Midnight had told him practically nothing about himself.  _Why do I get the leaving I’ve just been lulled into something… dark…_

“I’m afraid not.” Midnight dabbed away some cheese from the corner of his mouth with a napkin, trying to appear calm and reserved. “Haven’t quite seen as much of Equestria as you.”

Gavell *tsked* and gave a little shrug. “Too bad, you just seem like a rather interesting pony. However, I can see why you might be hesitant. But once you’ve been around the block as many times as I have, you just don’t feel that tense around strangers anymore.” Somehow, Midnight seriously doubted that was the case.

Neither said anything more for some time. Gavell had finished off his salad and Midnight was just pushing his polished plate aside when Lavender Springs came back around to check on them.

“Boy, you fellas sure were hungry! Is there anything else I can do for you?” When the both said no, the plates were whisked away in her magic and were replaced by a slip of paper.

“Here’s your ticket then, but there’s absolutely no rush, dears!”

“That’s quite alright,” Gavell said. “I think we’ll be heading out soon, actually.” Midnight gave a nod in agreement. One could question if the younger stallion was truly there with the blank expression he wore. The world around him seemed distant as his troubled mind withdrew into his skull. For a brief moment, he thought he heard the faintest traces of a whisper. Tuning out the chatter between Gavell and the waitress, he heard it again. This time, more than a whisper. Unfortunately, what he heard chilled his soul to its core.

“Well alrighty then, I’ll go ahead and take care of these plate. Want me to top off those drink one last time before ya’ll head out?” They both shook their heads, and Lavender Springs was off again a moment later.

“Hmm, not bad at all,” Gavell muttered. He studied the ticket with a look of approval. “Might need to keep this place in mind the next time I drop by.” He shifted his gaze up to Midnight.

“I must say, this little diner was quite the find, if I say so myself. What do you think, my friend?” Midnight’s vacant expression suddenly grew firm.

“Forgive me, but there’s something about you that puzzles me, Gavell. You’re… you’re strange.”  _And the shadows know your name… That bothers me more than anything._  The timid stallion didn’t know what kind of reaction he would earn from Gavell, but he certainly wouldn’t have expected the one he received.

For the second time during their outing, Gavell was choking back a fit of laughter. “Did it take you the entire past hour to figure that out? Is that why you turned all mopey there for a second? Good gracious, I would have thought that it was pretty evident from the start!”

Though Midnight tried to remain stern and confident, Gavell’s harsh guffaws made him squirm with inferiority. Had he just been tricked? And by a pony he didn’t even know, none the less? Suddenly, Midnight wanted to be anywhere other than there. Alabaster was better company than this lunatic.

“You are quite the treat,” he giggled, fishing around in his tattered saddlebags as he rose from his seat. He produced a hoof-ful of bits and stacked them neatly on the table, creating a miniature golden tower.

“So fun as this has been, I’m afraid that I’ll need to be shoving off. This little luncheon of ours has been enjoyable.. and enlightening.”

“Enlightening?” Midnight’s suspicions peaked. “What are you talking about?” Midnight made to stand too, but was forced back into the booth with a hard hoof as Gavell moved onto him.

“Hey, what the-”

“You want some advice? One traveler to another? I believe you’ll find it rather useful.” Midnight’s heart sputtered and his mind screamed for him to fight, to act, to do something! With all the ponies in the diner, all he had to do was yell. Yet, his body had gone limp to Gavell’s touch. It was as if control over his body had be snatched away and was being held tauntingly over his head.   
Leaning forward, the older stallion brought his face inches from Midnight’s, close enough for his breath to wash over him like a warm shower. Midnight thought his breath would smell like the leafy greens that made up his salad, or even like the ranch dressing that it had been drenched in. Yet, it didn’t.

Midnight’s blood went cold as the stallion’s pupils shrank and his smile grew so wide that it threatened to split his head.  _Spoiled milk… He smells like when Inky left out that glass of milk..._

“Silence falls on deaf ears.” That stink bathed Midnight in its putridness, making the food in his stomach turn restlessly. Even if he could move, Midnight feared that any sudden shift would send those hashbrowns up and all over himself.

“And it’s a shame, for it speaks such truths. Just as it did for you a moment ago, when it spoke my name. But my advice, my dreary friend, is to stop closing your ears to it and  _listen_. For you see, listening to that which others do not is the only way you’re going to stay ahead of what’s to come. LISTEN…”


	6. Deal My In

Just as Midnight had his turn in the furnace that is Appleloosa, Alabaster did so as well. The disgruntled stallion breathed hushed obscenities as he trotted his way down the main street, sweat spilling along his fur in rivulets.

“All I’m looking for is a damn produce stand, or something! But no, nothing can ever be simple, can it?” Passing pedestrians gave the fuming pegasus a wide berth, as well as a few furtive glances. Little Whisper’s feeding sessions always put a strain on his mood, but today was worse than usual. The scorching heat saw to that.  _I don’t see how ponies are supposed to function in this hellhole!_

Alabaster was about to admit defeat and sacrifice his when a familiar face stumbled into his path

Alabaster brightened. "Yo, Midnight!"

Midnight Dreary lingered on the opposite side of the street, his soft, azure eyes staring at his hooves. Despite the stallion’s appeared pallid.  _Oh great_ , Alabaster thought with a moan.  _Can’t even let the new guy go off on his own for five seconds before he get’s himself into trouble._

Alabaster crossed the street in a few, quick strides and was at Midnight’s side in an instant. “Midnight, did you hear me? Something wrong?” It took a second for the other stallion to register his presence. When Midnight finally met Alabaster’s gaze, his expression was hollow and distant.

“Sorry,” he said, sounding like a pony speaking through a wall. “I must not have heard you.”

“Is something wrong?” Alabaster repeated firmly. “You’re looking a little… spooked.” That seemed to sober the timid pony up a bit.

Midnight shook his head. “Really, I’m fine. I was just lost in thought is all.” Alabaster didn’t seem too convinced.

“Look Midnight, I’m not the kind of pony to pry into other’s business or anything, but you  _are_  one of us now. And if you’re going to be traveling with me and Wisp, than whatever shit you get into affects us too, you hear? That said, I’ll ask again: is something wrong?”

Alabaster was hoping that he could play the alpha male role and push Midnight into spilling whatever beans his was keeping to himself. It had always worked on him when he was a foal. Alas, it seemed his abrasiveness had quite the opposite effect.

“I understand that clearly, Alabaster, but I promise that nothing is wrong. I just got lost in thought.”

_I hope you’re telling the truth, pal. We really don’t need something biting us in the asses right now._  Alabaster decided to believe Midnight, for the time being. However, if this nagging feeling that the dark stallion was hiding something persisted, Alabaster would have to sick Whisper on him. If there was one thing that mare was good at, it was prying. No one knew that better than Alabaster.

“Alright then,” Alabaster said with a ruffle of his wings. “I’m just watching out for us, is all. But if that sheriff comes looking for us because you knocked over a bank or something, then I’m strangling that pretty neck of yours. Oh, and why the hell did you leave without waking us up? You nearly gave Wisp a heart attack.” Midnight blinked, clearly caught off guard. Slipping free from room eight felt like a distant memory, one that couldn’t have possibly been from earlier that day.

“I didn’t want to wake you guys up, is all. You really needed the rest… though, as heavily you two were sleeping, I don’t think I could’ve woke you up if I had even wanted to.” Alabaster chewed on that for moment, then sighed.

“Well… thank you. That was thoughtful, but also unnecessary. Just let us know before you head out somewhere, okay? I’m not trying to be your daddy or anything, me and Whisper let each other know when we’re about to go poking around on our own too. It’s just better for everyone if we keep track of each other.”

“Oh… alright then. My apologies.” When Midnight didn’t offer any other response, Alabaster shook his head and heaved another sigh.  _I feel like I’ll be doing that a lot around this guy._

The pale stallion resumed his trudge without another word, his companion silently keeping pace at his side. “Since you’ve been out and about all morning, Mr. Rise and Shine, maybe you could help me find a produce stand. Only thing I managed to find was some neurotic cabbage peddler who tried to hassle me into being a heads of that crap… damn near broke the bastard’s legs.” Midnight's shudder went unnoticed.

“Actually, I found a little produce store earlier,” Midnight said after regaining his composure.

“Oh yeah? How was their stock? Anything of choice?”

“There… no, not really… except for apples. They had plenty of healthy looking apples.”  _Of course they did._  “The mare working there said that they haven’t seen a new shipment in nearly weeks, that the stagecoaches have been delayed for some reason.”

_Delayed? I guess that’s one way to put it._ Alabaster recalled the conversation those hicks had shared back in Sour Apple’s kitchen.  _Bandits would be a pretty down good reason for stage coaches to be delayed._

“Well, that puts us in quite the pickle, don’t it? We may be hitting Sour Apple’s place up a few more times before we leave then. Hopefully we won’t get stranded in the desert again, otherwise we might have to resort to eating our hair.”

“R-really?”

Alabaster eyed his companion scrutinizingly. “What? No, of course we’re not going to eat our fucking hair! It was a joke, Midnight!”

Midnight shook his head. “I’m not talking about that. Do we really have to keep eating at Sour Apple’s? Can’t we just... buy some apples? They have plenty of those, more than enough to last us for a time.”

“We could, and we’re probably going to buy some anyway, but as for an actual meal, do you really just want to be eating nothing but apples for the next day or so? At least with Sour Apple we can get a full meal at a decent price.” Alabaster took a moment to smirk at Midnight’s growing unease. Apparently the scars inflicted by the old mare were still fresh upon his psyche.

“Dude, you could always just wait in the room or the lobby while I go get the food. I don’t mind playing delivery boy.”

“That… sounds like a good idea.” There was no small amount of relief in Midnight’s voice, which elicited a chuckle from Alabaster.

“Let’s just hope you can keep that charm of yours in check, otherwise you’re going to have to invest in a sturdy stick, know what I’m saying?” Unfortunately, Midnight didn’t.

“Er… no. Why would I need a stick?”

“You know, because…” Whatever Alabaster had been trying to say died with a labored groan. “Know what, forget it. It’s only awkward when you have to explain it.”

The two walked on without another word for some time, Alabaster seemingly leading them aimlessly through the boiling heat.

“Alabaster are we headed anywhere in particular?” Midnight dared to ask, hoping he wouldn’t upset the grumpy pegasus again on such short notice. His coat was drenched in sweat and gnats mobbed at his eyes and nose. It felt as if the sun was clawing strips of his black hide off. Midnight didn’t mind bearing the agonizing burden of the outdoors, but he did so praying that their feet would carry them someplace a bit more hospitable.

The stallion’s words fell on deaf ears, however. As the town’s saloon came into view across the street, Alabaster’s mind slipped into an alcohol craving daze. Though his legs continued to carry him forward, his glazed eyes and slacked expression revealed that his senses had been left somewhere behind him. Probably in the gutter.

_I bet it’s pretty cool in there,_  Alabaster fantasized.  _I could slip in and escape this damnable heat before I have a stroke. Maybe even order one of those nice, cold ciders._  As mouth-wateringly tempting as that was, he immediately put down that idea like a dying dog. Little Whisper was still out there, visiting one store after the other or gandering at the window displays that appeared every so often.

With the string of bad luck he’s had, it only seemed fitting that this would be one of those times where she caught him slinking into a bar. Besides, he really did need to save every bit he could, especially with another body rocking the party.

“Alabaster? Are you listening?” Midnight asked timidly, not missing the irony his question brought. A part of him was starting to worry. That look on the pegasus’s face was one of hunger and depravity.

“Yeah yeah, I hear you,” the pale stallion grumbled when the saloon was finally behind him. “As of right now, no, we’re not really heading anywhere right now. I just feel like if I head back to the room now that I’ll be accepting defeat.”

“Defeat?”

“While looking for produce, I also asked around for any job offers. Which, shockingly, turned out to be a bust.”

“Wait, didn’t the sheriff say-”

“I know what the sheriff said, Midnight, but forgive me if I decide to take a little extra initiative. Besides, you can’t always treat everything someone tells you like it’s gospel. Consider that my advice to you.” Midnight didn’t offer any response. He figured he could live the rest of his life without getting advice from anyone else and still die a happy pony.

Alabaster noticed the shadow fall over Midnight’s face and felt guilt prickle at his heart. Maybe he had been a little too testy just now. Most of the time, Whisper was able to take his harsh words in stride. But then, Whisper has known him for a long while.  _Damn it all!_

“Look, heat’s getting to me. I didn’t mean to get so snippy.” It was as close to an apology as he could reach. Midnight never said a word though, so Alabaster just thought it best to drop the subject completely.

***

The two stallion did make one stop before heading back to the inn. Much to the chagrin of Alabaster, they did end up buying those apples. Depositing the bits over to the smiling mare, he already knew that he would come to hate the damn things.  _I’m going to taste that cider every time I eat one, I can already tell. After a few, my body is going to wonder why I’m not getting a buzz yet._

With his coin purse a little lighter and his saddlebag a little heavier, Alabaster decided that it was high time to head back. Perhaps Whisper would be finished poking around town too. It would be nice talking to a pony that didn’t just stare at him like lump on log every time he said something.

However, upon their return, they found the room to be as lively as a tomb. Though Alabaster remained unperturbed by this, taking his disappointment in stride, Midnight didn’t share his sentiment.

“Where’s Whisper at?” Midnight asked cautiously, scanning the room as if expecting the mare to pop out at him like some kind of boogeyman. This was completely uncharacteristic of her, of course, but Midnight figured he couldn’t be too careful. Honestly, with the horrors the day had brought him, who could blame the poor stallion?

“Don’t worry, she’s just out sightseeing,” the pegasus responded, depositing his saddlebag on the bed. “She doesn’t like being cooped up anymore than the rest of us. Give her an hour or so and she’ll be back.”

Alabaster’s head disappeared into his saddlebag’s cavernous pouch as he rummaged around through his belongings. This was a bit difficult with the newly acquired sack of apples in the way. With Whisper absent, an idea had struck Alabaster. Perhaps there was a way of making his and Midnight’s wait a bit more enjoyable than just awkwardly staring at each other.

“I know it’s in here somewhere… come on, damn it, stop hiding from me!”

Interest peaked, Midnight edged closer to his winged companion, peering over his hunched shoulders to get a better look at whatever it was he was doing.

“So,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to sound as casual as possible. “What are we going to do till Whisper gets back?”

“Damn it, dude, if you give me a minute I’ll show- AHA!” Alabaster roared in delight, sending a startled Midnight nearly halfway across the room. “You are in for a treat, my dear fellow, a real treat!” With a small flurry for dramatic effect, he produced a small box. Sitting it down on the bed’s crumpled sheets, he gave Midnight a mischievous grin.

“Exactly what kind of treat am in for?” The timid pony retreated a step or two, unsure if should be comfortable with the way Alabaster was looking at him.

“The best kind. So tell me, you haven’t heard of poker before, have you? I’m guessing not, considering the whole ‘amnesia’ thing.”

As a matter of fact, Midnight had. Back at the rock farm, he had overheard the farmer and his farmhands speak rather fondly of a game that went by such a name. The details were never clarified, and Midnight didn’t think to ask for more information on the topic. Honestly, there were other matters more pressing to him than a game. Like the strange whisperings of shadows, for one.

When he told Alabaster this, the pale stallion grinned ear to ear. “Well, guess what, buddy! Today’s the day you’re going to learn to play!” Midnight didn’t know if he liked the strange joy in Alabaster’s voice or not.

He must have seen the hesitation written on Midnight’s face, for he quickly added, “Trust me, this is going to be buttloads of fun, and helpful to boot.”

“How is learning to play a game going to be helpful?”

“How’s it going to be helpful?” Alabaster brought a hoof up to his chest as if Midnight’s question had been an arrow shot into his heart. “Well… you see, Midnight…” That wound quickly healed and stitched itself up. “Okay, maybe it’s not [that] helpful. However, Whisper doesn’t like to play and I’m so tired of just shuffling the cards around like an asshole. Besides, playing cards is a great way to pass the time. You’ll be thanking me when the wait for our train just flies by.”

Believing that he had already won Midnight over, a somewhat giddy Alabaster crawled onto the bed and began to open the tiny box like a foal on Hearth’s Warming Day. “Just move my bag and hop on up.”

Midnight did as he was instructed, though rather skeptically. Once he was settled in, Alabaster began to shuffle the deck with deft hooves. The sound was like a hundred butterflies taking wing. It was evident that Alabaster was well experienced with manipulating the cards.

“It’ll be a little odd playing this sober, but I can manage. Alright, ready to start?” Though Midnight sighed, he also gave a slight nod.

“That’s the spirit! Okay, the first thing you’re going to want to know is-”

***

Half an hour later, the door to room eight swung open, then closed. Little Whisper remained in place with her back to the exit and a somber expression on her face, or she did until she caught sight of what was happening on the bed.

The two stallions sat apart from each other, cards placed neatly between them. A knot formed in the pit of her stomach when she realized that they were playing poker. That tightness she felt continued to twist and coil like an angry snake when she saw the expressions that they each wore. Alabaster’s cheeks had turned the color of a ripe tomato and his eyes were screwed shut. Every breath he forced between his clenched teeth came out as a low hiss.  _Dear lord, that’s his constipated face._  Midnight, on the other hand, looked absolutely baffled as he studied the cards in his hooves.

“Oh no,” Whisper moaned, drawing their attention. “You’re not beating Al at poker, are you?”

Midnight sputtered, no longer sure of what he was doing anymore. “Y-you mean I’m winning? He won’t tell me if I am or not, he just keeps getting angrier every hand we play!”

The party of three stared at one another for a moment, the rise and fall of their chests the only sign that life still breathed through them. It was Alabaster who finally broke the silence.

“You know what, we’re done here!” he blurted out, scooping up the cards, snatching the ones in Midnight’s grasp, and shoving them back into their box.

Whisper sighed as she unfastened the straps to her saddlebag and set it down over in the corner. “Something to remember, Midnight, never beat Al at cards. He’s a bit of a sore loser, as you’ve probably just discovered. That’s why I don’t play with him anymore.”

“It has nothing to do with me being a sore loser,” Alabaster snarled. “It has to do with this bastard having a ridiculously good case of beginner's luck! All I needed was a decent hand to pop his cherry,  _then_  things would have been an even kill!”

Fearing for his wellbeing, Midnight hopped down from the bed and fled like struck dog to the wingback chair he had slept on. Whisper shook her head as she made her way to the bathroom, ignoring the profane grumplings of the childish pony putting away his deck of cards.

Though the blistering southern heat hadn’t rendered her smelly with dry sweat like it had her two friends, she figured a quick bath would be a pleasant, possible therapeutic, way to end her day. Maybe it would even help her feel normal for a change. She could only hope. Whisper mainly made this her highest priority because she wanted to get to the bathtub before Alabaster could get the chance to use up all the hot water in Appleloosa again.  _I don’t know what I’m going to do with either of them._

***

The noble-ponies didn’t know what to be terrified of more, the causal, unassuming smile that the griffin wore or the murderous filly who sat next to him, the blood stains crusting along her armor hidden under the guise of her cloak. After the slaughter of the bandits, the mercenaries had rolled the corpses off into the snowdrift and crawled back into carriage as if nothing had even happened. Just another day.

Snow Dew couldn’t take her trembling eyes off the holster where the crossbow hide at Quill’s side. Every little foal had heard tall tales of the strange weapons that the non-magical creatures of the world would craft, either for functionality or protection. Until that day, though, she thought that the stories were just that: tall tales. How could she have known that such horrible instruments actually existed? She had no dealing with the foreign races. The Equestrian royalty dealt with matters such as that. It made her heart stutter to think what other stories she had been told as a child that were more than just simply works of fiction.

Quill spied her lingering gaze, and thought that maybe he ought to try and break the tension congealing between the two parties.

“She’s pretty, is she not?” Quill said, raising a claw and patted the holster. “She’s one of a kind… of my own design, if I can be so bold to boast.”

“Y-you?” The words were like a stone lodged in Snow Dew’s throat. “You made t-that thing?”

“Why, of course. I’m quite the tinker in my spare time. I even crafted those little pretties on Speira’s back.” The filly stirred at the mention of her name, but continued to remain silent.

“Little pretties?” one of Snow Dew’s cousins spat. It was as if he was about to gag upon the words. “Little pretties! How can anypony call such horrible things pretty?”

“Cousin, please.” Snow Dew’s effort to calm her kin were quickly washed aside, however.

“No! These beasts just slew a hoof-ful of ponies as easily as they would swat a fly, and now he’s speaking to us of his hobbies? This is monstrous, Snow Dew!”

The second cousin, looking a bit squeamish, nodded vigorously as if his life depended on it. “I agree. To act as if nothing has transpired is truly disturbing. These two are murderers, cousin.”

Quill’s expression hardened at those words. There was not a slang or curse word that could ever hope to tempt Quill’s tempered patience, but being called a “murderer” was muddling a line that rarely anyone ever managed to cross. Was he a killer? Yes. But a murderer? He would not accept such an insult, even if it were from some purebreed noble.

“Tell me, lordlings, did you think I was hired to simply converse and keep you company?” Anger fled from the stallions as they quickly remembered how closely they sat to the agitated griffin’s talons. “I find it flattering that you would think so highly of me, however, it shows me that you’re greater fools than I first took you for. You need to realize that this country is no longer yours, lordlings. From what I saw back there, your Equestria is ruled by desperation and fear, not you, not your governess, and not even your princesses. The quicker you and the rest of your white blooded figureheads learn this, the sooner you can stop relying on those such as myself to fight your battle for you.” Though no one saw it, Speira smirked under the collar of her cloak.

The warmth never returned to Quill’s demeanor, not after that. The words he spoke were blasphemous, words that could never be birthed from the heart of any trueborn Equestrian. Yet, the nobles couldn’t find the courage within themselves to speak out against the mercenary. They bit their tongues and prayed to Celestia that the rest of the journey would pass by in a speedy manner.

Quill’s eyes left the ponies, and instead looked out to the frozen wasteland stretching out before his window. His features remained taut, and they would continue to be so until the nobles that had spurred his disdain were out of his feathers for good.  _This._  Quill thought balefully to himself.  _This is why I charge double for aristocrats._

***

Though business had brought the two mercenaries to the Crystal Empire on numerous occasions, Speira still felt as if every visit was her first. As Quill helped unload the luggage strapped to the top of the stagecoach, she stood aloof to everyone as she oogled at the glimmering buildings towering all around her. The entire city, along with its ponies, was like a sparkling diamond on a necklace that Equestria wore proudly.

The pull team had given the duo a wide berth since their arrival in the city. Though they never said a word about what transpired on the trek south, the looks they gave Quill and Speira as they unhitched themselves from the stagecoach spoke in volumes. They would never unsee the slaughter of those ponies for as long as they live.

A small throng of ponies garbed in gilded armor came to greet the party of nobles and escort them to the palace, but the filly paid them no attention too. The guards spared a few words for Quill, who was now unfastening his own bag, before quickly whisking the aristocrats away. She watched with an idle mind, everything they said sounded like a muffled murmur, as the column of ponies began their march to the grand palace overlooking the city.

A twinge of jealousy stabbed at Speira. The nobles were probably used to such grander and never even gave the amazing palace they headed to a second thought. How she longed to stand on the highest tower of that place and look down at the sparkling city. She imagined the Crystal Empire would look like a sea of jewels twinkling beneath her hooves at such a magnificent perch. Perhaps Speira would even stretch her metallic wings against a strong current and pretend that she was flying, just like Quill. Oh, what an intoxicating fantasy that was!

So lost in her own world was she that Speira never even noticed when Quill regrouped with her. He didn’t say anything at first, though, instead he allowed himself the joy of watching the look of wonder painted across filly’s face as she gazed up at the looming spires. It was one of the few reasons he enjoyed coming back to the Crystal Empire, to see that look on her face.

She was only drawn from her mind when Quill adjusted the heavy bag hefted on his back. Seeing her mentor smiling down at her made Speira flush, which only fanned the sparks of his amusement. She hated, more than anything, being snuck up on.

“I saw you there,” Speira said defiantly. Though the filly was more than a proficient combatant, she was a bit lacking in the art of lying.

Quill chuckled and ruffled her mane affectionately, ignoring the nasty glare he spurred. “Come along, my dear, we’ve had a rather long journey. A nice rest is in store for us, I believe.”

“But we haven’t collected our payment yet. Shouldn’t we go to the barracks and find the captain?”

“Don’t you worry, he’ll come looking for us.”

“Really?”

“Yes, especially after word gets to him of our earlier altercations. Nobles have very loose lips, especially when they’ve been insulted. He’ll want to have a word with us about that, I’m sure.”

Speira was quiet for a moment, then she dared to be a bit bold. “I don’t like the ponies he sends to get us. They’re just so… stuffy.”

“Well, I won’t argue with that. Speira, just be aware that these are trying times for them. It’s quite understandable if they get a bit short. However, I’m afraid things might get a bit more tense after today.”

The two lingered for a little longer, watching as the crystal ponies shuffled and trudged about their day -- a few of them casting wary glances towards Quill. The tired griffin eventually grew weary of standing, his joints beginning to ache and nag at him.

“Come along, Speira,” was all he said before starting forward, one claw continuing to adjust the bag strapped to his back. The filly obeyed without a second thought.

***

Traversing through the throngs congesting the veins of the Crystal Empire proved to be a quick endeavor for the two mercenaries, as most ponies were quick to make room for the winged predator. Within no time, the duo was pushing open the door to the Speckled Gem Inn and Tavern. They were greeted by the droning chatter of drinking ponies and the symphonic clatter of cups banging upon wooden tables.

Darting table to table, single handedly tending to the needs of every patron, was the Speckled Gem’s long time waitress, Half Pint. The tired mare, garbed in a stained apron with her frazzled mane held back by a dotted kerchief, was swatting away the hooves of a drunken stallion trying to get too friendly with her when she noticed Quill and Speira enter.

“Oy!” She called to them, passing on a pint that was foaming at the mouth as she made her way over. “I’m guessing you two will be taking the usual?”

Quill nodded to her. “We will, just tell Topaz to put it on our tab, please.”

“Fine, same room as always, hun.” With that she dug into the pocket of her apron and produced a key. She deposited it into Quill’s outstretched talon.  _Good to know they alway keep us in mind._

The mare spared no more words as she went to see about her duties once more. Quill like that about her. She was always of a short demeanor, never asking questions or nosing around in others’ affairs. In his line of work, questions were problematic and even dangerous at times. Much like the magazines hiding under a colt’s mattress.

Weaving through the mass of tittering and staggering ponies, they ascended the tavern stairs and found their room with practiced ease. Quill had no doubt that they could have done so with their eyes closed. Their lodging was about like any other room Quill had slept in the past ten years, dusty and simplistic.  _Much like myself, now that I think about it._  A bed and bath was all he really needed, though. Anything more would be a luxury, and having too many luxuries always put him on edge.

As much as they wanted to,Quill and Speira didn’t settle into their room just yet. Once they made sure that the premises was clear and that there was nothing of suspect, Quill pointed a commanding talon to a door that lead to the room’s bathroom.

“Before anything else, my dear, you are going to get a bath.” Speira soured at that.

“Do I really have to? It’s not that late yet. What if… what if I spill something on myself? You always say it’s inconsiderate to use up too much of the inn’s hot water.” Quill gave an unhappy click of his beak.

“You’re caked in blood, Speira.  _Blood_. I don’t think I need to explain to such a clever girl why that’s absolutely no good, do I?”

“No, sir,” she muttered sheepishly. It seemed he always knew best when it came to making the filly feel no larger than an ant.

“Very good,” he said in a lighter tone that, thankfully, lifted her spirit. “Best get to it then. That blood has had a few hours to set, and I fear you’re going to have quite the time getting it off.” Just like that, the filly deflated once more.

“Yes, sir.”

_Oh, to be young again,_  Quill mused, watching her stomp off to the bathroom.

Once the door closed shut behind Speira, Quill was finally left alone to his thoughts and troubles. The day’s encounter had given birth to many questions that didn’t seem to sit well in his mind at all. Instead, they squirmed and writhed like a fistful of worms, demanding the griffin’s attention.

He had known for some time of the ponies plaguing the arteries of Equestria’s Northlands. They were mostly vagrants from the larger cities, bereft of work or a place to call home. They were ponies who thought to trade in a life of squalor for one of crime.  _Well, what better place to do so than the Northlands, where civilization normally days away on the main roads?_  The dwindling numbers of the Guard were already spread thin, as most were stationed in the bigger cities to maintain order among the surplus population. However, this wasn’t the forefront of things that bothering him.

_That unicorn... that oaf had called her a Scholar._  Quill tossed back the mildew eaten curtains and allowed the light of the outside world to fill the room. Beneath him, the ponies of the Crystal Empire greeted each other with bright, beaming faces -- an expression he would never know for himself. The picture this happy city painted held a stock contrast compared to the thoughts rattling around in his feathered head.

He had heard much talk of deserters as of late. The Equestrian Guard and the Scholars of Magic had lost a near quarter of their numbers within the last year, if such rumors were to be trusted. Though Quill would rather it all just remain tabletalk shared by drunken ponies in a dimly lit tavern over a few pints, the ponies that had attacked them earlier proved that there might be more truth to them than he dared believe.

“You know things are only going to get worse, you old bird, you’ve seen it all happen before,” Quill said to the reflection of himself captured by the mirror. “Best to take Speira and set up shop elsewhere before things get too dirty…” However, the cold, hard truth skewered that idea like one of his arrows. When things finally got “too dirty”, that’s when business would really pick up.

His voice trailed off, almost as if swallowed by sullen mood of the room, as his hawkish gaze fixed on a trio of armored ponies picking their way through the street. Their golden armor glinted in the sunlight, a sign that signaled their royal station like lit match in a dark cave. It wasn’t too long before Quill watched as they vanished into the inn’s front door.  _Well, this should be fun._


	7. Chapter Seven: All bedded down and nowhere to go.

Finally free from Alabaster’s defeated sulking, Whisper allowed herself to sink into the bathwater, her chin a mere inch or so from its steaming surface. It felt as if she was an ice cube plopped into a nice cup of coffee, her muscles melting at the warm water’s touch. Hours could have passed by and she would never tire of the water’s steamy embrace. However, Whisper couldn’t have done such a thing under good consciousness, especially not after teasing Alabaster so. Within about a quarter of the time Alabaster would have spent in the tub, Whisper was bathed, dried off, and heading back into the main room.

The two stallions were right where she had left them. Alabaster laid on the bed, curled up with his saddlebag as if it were some kind of lover. Midnight was leaning over the armrest of his chair, gazing out at the rustic town that peeked in through the window. Lingering momentarily at the doorway, Whisper’s gaze found Midnight and remained idle on him for a moment. The evening light cascaded through the windowpane in tiny slivers and kissed the gentle features of his face.

Though Whisper didn’t know it, her gaze carried a weight to it. Midnight, almost alerted by something going amiss, turned his head just in time to miss Whisper’s eyes averting themselves away from him. Pretending as if nothing had happened, she strolled over to the bed and took up a position next to Alabaster.

“So Wisp, how was your daaay?” Alabaster almost sang in a mocking tone, his chin propped up on his saddlebag as he fitted her with a lidded gaze. “See anything interesting in this oh so interesting toooown?”

She acknowledged his teasing with a grin. “Actually, I did, for your information.”

“Oh?

“Yes… well…” her enthusiasm tapered off. “Okay, not really.” The poise she tried to maintain deflated completely.

“Sadly, my books made everyday life in a country town seem much more intriguing and heated than they really are. I think the most fascinating thing I saw was a little boutique around the corner… but even that place turned out to be just as dull as most of the other places around here. The dresses they sold were… bland, to put it lightly. I don’t think the mare running that store has an ounce of creativity in her whole body. In fact, if her needlework was any indication, I think she would excel more at cutting down trees than making dresses.”

When she saw the snarky grin Alabaster flashed at her, Whisper quickly tried to grasp for something that sounded more appealing. “However, the ponies here seem rather nice. In fact, I remember this one who sold cabbages-” The expressions on both Alabaster’s and Midnight’s faces dropped like a paper mask.

“Don’t… don’t ever bring up cabbages again, Wisp,” Alabaster groaned, burying his muzzle into his saddlebag. Even Midnight, vigorously he nodded his head, seemed to echo the sentiment.

“Umm, okay?” Whisper felt as if she was looking at only a fraction of a picture. “I feel like I missed something...”

***

The trio, Whisper and Alabaster more so than Midnight, whittled away the time by going into some of the finer details of their day, as few and far between as they were. It at least serviced the purpose of occupying the ponies until the sun began to dip into the horizon.

“You’re serious? They just kick the trees?” Alabaster asked, studying Whisper as if she just sprouted a horn.

“Yeah, I thought it was strange too, but you should’ve seen them, Al! The apples just fall off! It’s as if they all decided to jump ship from a single buck!”

Though the working habits of the apple ranchers seemed to fascinate Whisper to no end, Alabaster didn’t share her elation. Rubbing his chin, he squinted at her skeptically. “That’s just… weird. I don’t see why they just don’t use magic... but hey, whatever works for them, I guess,” he ended with a shrug.

The sentence was punctuated with a gurgling rumble. Alabaster glanced down at his abdomen, missing the brief giggle that escaped Whisper. “I guess all this talk of apples has made someone antsy, huh?” he said, prodding his belly inquisitively. It only responded with another grumble.

“Well, that settles it. I’m hungry.” As if that was his cue, Alabaster rose up on all hours and stretched out across the bed languidly. His stiff joints popped like snapped twigs, each time eliciting a grimace from Midnight. It only got worse when Alabaster started to roll his neck.

“Al, please!” Whisper barked, taking note of the way Midnight shifted uneasily. “If you going to do that, go outside where it’s not right in our ears.”

He flashed her a dastardly grin before playfully swiping at her nose with the tip of his wing. Ignoring how her glare drilled into his hide, the pegasus clopped down from the bed and looked over to his quiet companion.

“Yo, Midnight, you want something too? I’m heading down to Sour Apple’s.” Much to Alabaster’s surprise, the stallion shook his head.

“Really? You sure? I don’t mind bringing it back up.”

“Thank you, but no,” Midnight said, adding a sheepish smile. “I don’t know why, but I’m just not really hungry.”

That was a lie, though. The timid pony knew exactly why his appetite was shot. Part of the reason was because that large meal he ate earlier still sat in his stomach like a lead anchor. From the way he felt, Midnight wondered if it would be another day or so before he could bring himself to eat again.

Mainly, though, it was because the horrid smell of rotten milk still lingered in his nostrils like a bad memory. Nervously, he pondered if the stench had embedded itself deep into his coat like some nasty kind of mite. The food nested in Midnight’s stomach churned at the thought of eating anything while also having to smell that rancid stench at the same time.  _If there is anything that could make me sick, I think that would be it._

Those golden flecked eyes of the pegasus studied him for a moment, as if he was expecting this to be some kind of joke. Then he shrugged and said, “Alright then, but don’t say I didn’t offer. If you decided in a bit that you want something, though, you’re going to be getting it yourself.”

“Alright,” Midnight chuckled, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

Striding on past, Alabaster was nearly at the door before a cinderblock of realization dropped down on his hard head.

“Oh, Wisps, I nearly forgot,” he started, spinning back around. “Do  _you_  want something too?”

Arching an eyebrow, Whisper was about to ask him if was daft. Then, with a sideways glance to Midnight, she remembered her part in their little act.

“Oh! Thanks, Al, but I ate something before I came up. Don’t think I could even think about eating anything else!”

 _I can sympathize_ , Midnight glowered. Alabaster gave a small salute with one his wings as confirmation before opening the door and slipping out.

With one less soul in the room, Alabaster’s departure ushered in a startling quiet. Whisper laminated, realizing that this was the first time she had ever been alone with her newest traveling companion. She found it utterly ironic that it would be Alabaster who would spend the most time with Midnight, especially considering how he was against letting the poor stallion join in the first place. With Alabaster’s mouth out of the equation, this would be the perfect time for Whisper to become better acquainted with Midnight.

Tapping her hooves together, like a nervous filly on her first day of school, Whisper met Midnight’s somber gaze. He wasn’t necessarily looking at her in that moment, but his eyes wandered the room restlessly. Apparently the window had finally lost its appeal. It didn’t take too long for him to eventually find Whisper again.

“So, Midnight, you haven’t said a word about  _your_  day yet.” Whisper thought that this would be enough to bait the stallion into a conversation, but his answer was much more lackluster than she had hoped.

“Oh yeah, I guess I didn’t… ”

That statement left the two staring at one another quite uncomfortably. Seeing the disappointment on her face, Midnight quickly added, “There really isn’t anything I can say that you and Alabaster haven’t. I spent most of the morning trying to find a produce stand, then a good bit of the evening following Alabaster. Nothing else.”

A little dagger of remorse needled at the back of his skull, as if to say ‘that’s not the whole story, is it, buddy?’ Midnight shrugged it aside, or as best as he could, anyway. Even if he wanted to recant his time with Gavell, he wasn’t entirely sure how he would go about that. It was a box he wasn’t ready to open yet.  _But one I’ll have to… eventually._

“That’s too bad,” Whisper said with a touch of disappointment. “I was hoping at least one of us managed to find something a bit worthwhile in this town. Oh well, maybe things will seem a bit greener further along the track.”

“Maybe so…” Midnight fell quiet for moment, his brow furrowing suddenly. Just as Whisper was about to ask if something was the matter, the stallion found the words he was struggling to weave together.

“Whisper? Is the time you and Alabaster spend waiting around like this always so… boring?”

Midnight thought he had just said something wrong form the way Whisper’s expression seemed to stall, but the smile that followed washed away that worry.

“No, I’m afraid not,” she giggled, pushing back a few braids of her silvery mane. “Usually we don’t stay this long in one place unless we have a job or something.”

“And what is it you guys do?”

“Well…” Now it was Whisper’s time to grasp for words. She turned her hoof over and over in the air, as if that would help her to spit out whatever was dancing at the tip of her tongue.

“We do whatever we can get paid for.”

“Oh… so what do you usually get paid to do?”

The question was like a blow to the gut for Whisper, eliciting a groan from the mare. “Oh boy, what [haven’t] we done is the question, Midnight. We’ve shingled houses, worked stalls, herded cattle, and sewn clothes. None of them lasted longer than a couple of months, but we’ve done a little bit of everything.”

“You know how to sew?” Midnight’s mind turned to the doll, Mr. Smiles, Whisper had been so proud of.

Had she been the one that crafted him? Or it? Midnight found himself unsure. Then he thought quickly of the ill fitted saddlebag that had nearly rubbed him raw in days prior. If it were possible, maybe he could convince Whisper to make some minor adjustments to the blasted thing. Another long trek like the one the other day would probably be the death of him.  _Popping blisters is the last thing I want to worry about right now._

“Eh… Needle work was always more of Alabaster’s thing. I’m fairly decent, but kind of a hack when compared to what he can do.” A bit disappointed, Midnight gave a short nod before his neck froze stiff.

“Wait, you’re telling me Alabaster can sew? Of all the things he could be capable of… I wouldn’t think that  _that_  would be one of them!” Whisper laughed at the way Midnight gawked at her, his mouth hanging limply like a rubber chicken.

“Yes, he has rather a knack for it actually. Is that so strange?” Whisper asked. She tried to shield the amusement in her voice, but the dumbfounded way Midnight looked at that moment was too much for her.

“I guess not… It’s just…” Midnight pause for a moment, wrangling his memory in order so that he didn’t misconstrue anything. “Back at the rock farm, all of the mares there sew. When I asked about what they were doing, the farmer, Igneous if I remember correctly, told me that it was a feminine art. Definitely not something for stallions.” Igneous had been quite adamant about that last bit, especially when it appeared Midnight was starting to take a shine to the craft. It was now Whisper’s turn to gape, her mirth nibbed at the bud.

“What! That’s ridiculous! Sewing is a craft anyone can benefit from! I can’t tell you how many times we’ve managed to put food in our belly because Al patched up some old buck’s tattered coat, or because he filled in for a seamstress who had lost their apprentice to a direwolf attack!” Midnight sunk back, not entirely certain that her outburst wasn’t meant for him.

Allowing dead air to settle between them, at least long enough for Whisper’s harsh tongued annoyance to broil down to a seemer, Midnight chewed on his words for a bit before speaking again. “Is Alabaster any good? At sewing, I mean!” That last bit spewed out faster than he had intended it to.

For a moment, before his quickly spoken words were processed, Whisper was taken aback. However, she smiled eagerly at him.

“Here, let me show you something.”

Reaching over, she pulled Alabaster's saddlebag closer to her. It took a few moments of rummaging and searching for the right pocket, but she finally gave a triumphant  **aha!**  What she pulled free from the confines of the bag made Midnight’s eyes widen. It was a scarf. Laying it in front of her, Whisper gave the article of clothing a loving smile. The thing was the color of a burning flame, but in its center was a winding, thorny flower stem that ran the scarf. Either direction of the stems ended in a blooming rose. Both the flower and the stems themselves were the same color as Midnight’s dark coat.

“Now, this doesn’t really have anything to with sewing, but I think you get the idea. Though he may not look it, Alabaster has quite the creative streak in him…” Her smile deflated. “Or, he does when he isn’t using that creativity to bash someone’s head in. At least this is one hobby of his that doesn’t get us a oneway ticket to the slammer.”

Midnight stared at the scarf for a time, his mind turning over on itself as the gears of thought worked restless within his skull. Eventually, his thoughts sated for the time being, he raised his gaze from the scarf and met Whisper’s eyes.

“Do you have any hobbies?” he asked her.

Instantly, the smile Whisper wore flourished like a wildfire creeping along in the underbrush. Midnight noted, with great unease, how similar she looked to Alabaster when he pulled out his deck of cards.  _What have I gotten myself into now?_

***

Half an hour had passed and Alabaster was trudging up the stairs of the inn with a full, satisfied belly. The dish of the night for Sour Apple’s kitchen was ‘garlic soup’, something that the hollow legged pegasus had been able to attack with much gusto. Perhaps too much, if truth be told. Two bowls of the delicious stuff sloshed around in his stomach with every step he took.

“Holy cow,” he sighed blissfully, reaching the door to room eight. “That old hag might be creepier that a corpse wearing lipstick, but damn can she cook! Midnight doesn’t know what he missed.”

The door swung open and Alabaster was half way through the doorway when every muscle in his entire body went rigid. His opened his mouth, as if to form words, but he ended up gnawing on an invisible loaf of stale bread.

“And this one! I nearly forgot this one! I read this a few months back, when me and Alabaster were cleaning troughs at a ranch… not our most glorious of jobs.”

Midnight was no longer on his wingback perch, instead he had moved across from Whisper on the bed. In between them lay a pile of paperback novels that had once been tucked away into Whisper’s saddlebag. The garlic soup began doing cartwheels in Alabaster’s stomach when he recognized the familiar faces of dreary eyed, dreamy models printed across each of the book’s faces. Whisper had her hoof on one titled  _Hearts Across Detrot: A Noir_.

“Oh, come on!” Alabaster yelled, ruffling his feathers menacing. “You give me shit about trying to play poker with him, then you go and try to get him into  _that_  trash!”

The two ponies jumped at the pegasus’s voice, both looking like blushing lovers that had just been caught in the throes of something dirty. It was Whisper who recovering first, heat rising to her cheeks as her shock transformed into animosity.

“What do you mean by trash!?” Midnight flinched away from the fuming mare, amazed that the soft spoken mare could roar like she did. “These are works of literature, and fine ones at that!”

“Um,” Midnight squeaked, afraid to make himself known to the ponies glaring each other down. “Am I missing something?” His words were lost in the ensnaring inferno sparking between the two friends like a case of spontaneous combustion.

“No, Wisp, they’re penny dreadfuls! And you know why they’re called that? Because they’re dreadful!”

“Oh, please! How would you even know if they’re bad or not? You’ve never even picked one up before!”

“I did! You remember ‘Brokeback Valley’, the damn book I read after you kept shoving it in my face for two weeks? Remember that?”

“Well… how was I supposed to know you wouldn’t be into those kinds of romances?”

“YOU ASK!” The air seemed crack with tension as their voices rose higher and higher. Midnight wondered how long it would be till the manager waddled up to tell them to quiet down. Then Midnight wondered what would become of the poor, daft fellow if he was to accidentally be pulled into the mess. Like a child that had just trotted into an argument raging on between his parents, Midnight covered his head with his hooves and slithered underneath the covers of the bed.

***

Armor maintenance had almost become as natural for Speira as her own bodily functions. Every day, usually before bedtime, she would go about polishing and cleaning the complex piece of arcane machinery, ever mindful of its sharp plumage. Quill told her often that she should think of the armor as an extension of herself, and to treat it thusly.

“You wouldn’t go to bed after a long day without washing off the filth sticking to your coat, would you?” Quill had once asked her. “And you wouldn’t overlook a wound just because you think you could treat it later. Well, the same applies for your armor, my dear. It’s special, just as you are. I want you to care for it as I have cared for you, you understand?”

She had understood, quite clearly in fact. Speira took to his orders quickly and without question (mostly). Although, the usual fervor and pride she took in tending to the armor’s needs were gone. As much as Speira loved the strange and eerie thing, she hated cleaning off blood and gore more than anything else in her life. It felt like hours had come and gone as she scrubbed off the blotches of red crusting along the steel’s ebony face while also making sure to get in between the joints of the wings.

Eventually, after much grumbling and physical exertion, Speira dried off her armor and then herself. Both were clean as a whistle, not a drop of blood to be found anywhere on either of them.  _Just as Papa likes,_  she thought sluggishly, pushing her damp mane from her eyes. The glowing veins along the armor sputtered and pulsed, almost gratefully.

Speira hefted it carefully onto her back, mindful of those painfully sharp wings, and trotting back to the main room, she found her mentor seated on the edge of the bed. It wasn’t uncommon to find the old bird brooding after they had completed a job. This day was not an exception from any other. His attention was turned to the window and the crystalline city lying outside, and it remained so even as he addressed her.

“I’m glad to see you took your time, my dear. Not a single speck of red, just what I like to see.” This came as no surprise to Speira. Even out of his peripherals, his vision soared above and beyond that of the normal pony’s.

Outside, the sky had become a splatter piece, numerous shades of reds and purples slung haphazardly along a cloudless canvas.  _How long was I in the bathroom?_

When Speira voiced this question, Quill chuckled and allowed his gaze to drift to her. “Long enough, that’s what matters.” He patted the empty place next to him with a gentle claw. “Bring it over here and let me see if there was any damage to the blades.”

This was one of the few bits of maintenance that Quill performed on Speira’s armor. After any bloody altercation, he would check for nicks in the blades and fix any damage there may be to the wings’s joints. Every so often, he would also sharpen them. It was something that he was teaching Speira as they went on, but she could tell that he still enjoyed doing it himself. That seemed perfectly logical to the filly, as they were his creation.

Complying with her teacher’s instructions, she trotted over and rested it carefully at his side. With claws that were as skillful as they were deadly, Quill stretched one of the wings out in front of him and began to trace a talon along each sharpened feather, seeking out any imperfections.

Speira watched him with inquisitive eyes, soaking in his every gesture like a depraved sponge. It wouldn’t be too much longer before this task passed on to her, and she wanted to be sure that she was every bit as adept at it as Quill.

 

Every so often, the griffin would glance up to make sure that the quiet filly was still there. Each time he did so he found Speira standing just a bit closer, her studious gaze ever growing in intensity.

“Well, the verdict is looking good,” Quill said midway during his inspection of the second wing. “No nicks, cracks, or any severe damage. Although, the joints are feeling just a tad stiff.” He gave the wing a flex, folding it and then unfolding quickly. “May want to oil them before bed.” Speira nodded and Quill pushed the armor back to her, however, she kept her eyes fixed on him.

“I heard voices, sir,” she said matter of factly, earning a chuckle from Quill. Clearly he had been expecting this.

“I have no doubt of that, my dear. Those royal guards have as much subtlety and nuance as a rhino with hemorrhoids.”

“A rhino with what?”

“Never you mind, Speira.”

“But you said the royal guards were here. Did they come to pay us?” He nodded, though a bit uneasily.

“Yes… for the most part. They were mainly interested in hearing about our  _interesting_  encounter with some of the natives earlier.”

A shadow crept into the filly’s olive toned eyes, and her hardened gaze promised a death more foul than just a few measly cuts from her wings. “They weren’t mean to you, were they, Papa?”

Quill was a bit alarmed to see the filly’s demeanor darken so suddenly. He had seen her angry before, mostly when he told her it was time for bed or when he instructed to finish off her vegetables, but never as murderous as she looked in that very moment.

The smile he gave managed to disarm her anger. “No, my dear, Prince Shining Armor has yet to send someone so foolish to us.”

“They acted stuffy, though, didn’t they?”

“Yes,” Quill conceded, his voice drawing out the word as if he were hesitant to say it, “I guess they were a bit ‘stuffy’. Although, it’s nothing for you to worry about, young missy. This old bird can handle himself just fine, thank you very much.”

That made Speira frown. “I don’t think you’re old, Papa.”

“That’s sweet of you, but my achy neck begs to differ.”

Before Speira continued, she hopped up on the bed with Quill and nestled closely into his side. He had long discarded his leather barding, laying it out in the rocking chair across the room, thus allowing her to submerge herself in the warmth radiating from Quill’s fur. The scent of aging leather and musk clung to him. It was comforting and nostalgic, an odor she had known her whole life. Nuzzling the crook under his left leg, Quill took noticed and lifted it for her. Squirming and wriggling like an overactive worm, Speira managed to squeeze her way underneath him. When she was finally comfortable, only her head was visible. Smiling, Quill hugged himself tenderly to the filly, careful not to squish her.

They were content to remain like that for a time, simply enjoying the feeling of being so near to one another. Quill even allowed a slight purr to escape under his breath, something he almost never did. Eventually, though, the silence was broken, much to Quill’s dismay. He could have spent the rest of his life like that, scrunched up closely to his daughter, and never have given a second thought to the woes of the pony world. But alas.

“Papa… they weren’t happy when you told them one of those ponies was a Scholar, were they?”

Quill sighed. “No, love, they weren’t happy about that at all.”

***

Night had fallen over Appleloosa like a hand knitted blanket. Under its cover, crickets sang in a mismatched, yet still lulling, chorus that ushered many a pony to sweet dreams. As more and more lit windows began to wink out of existence like dying stars, the town slipped ever closer into sleep. There was one pony, however, who would remain vigilant through most of the night.

Midnight Dreary, who had yet to live up to his namesake, was curled up on the cushion of the wingback chair and playing audience to the chorus of crickets. It wasn’t by force that he had been marooned on to the chair again while his friends got the bed, instead he had volunteered willingly. It wasn’t necessarily that he was scared of sleeping next to another pony, because he would have been absolutely fine with sharing the bed with Whisper. However, he knew that Whisper’s big heart would compel her give up her space for him, leaving Midnight with-

Alabaster gave a sharp snort, as if on cue, and tugged at the cover, almost pulling it off of Whisper. It wasn’t the snoring that bother Midnight, though, it was the pillow that formed a barrier between the two sleeping friends. He remembered Whisper briefly explaining why the wall of fluffyness was needed, and felt himself shudder.

“Well, you see,” Whisper had flushed a touch as she spoke, “Alabaster get’s a bit  _clingy_  in his sleep. It’s usually not so bad, but there has been a few times when I’ve needed a crowbar to get his ham-hooves off me. Can’t say that I blame him though, haha!.”

That dig had earned a scowl from the pegasus, who was obviously still sore over their earlier argument. Midnight, however, took her words to heart. When the issue had come up over their sleeping arrangement, he had been adamant that they get the bed and he sleep in the chair. It took a lot of arm twisting and Alabaster groaning “just let him be, Wisp” before a sulking Whisper let the issue be put to rest.

Wistfully, and almost enviously, Midnight watched over the slumbering forms of his two friends with glittering eyes. Sleep was a fickle mistress, and it seemed that she was having little to do with him. He kept hoping that he’d just nod off, as if consciousness was just a slippery slope where all one needed was one misplaced step. Yet, the stallion’s waking world held strong.

The shadows spoke as they always did, though Midnight was relieved to find their voices quieting as the night waned. They spoke in words so quiet that the pony could have sworn that it was really the babbling of a distant brook. He liked to think that he was getting better at tuning them out, yet he wasn’t entirely confident that was the case.  _Their will is their own,_  Midnight surmised.  _All I can do is tell them to be quiet and hope they’ll listen._

He allowed that thought to marinate in his mind for a time. It made him uneasy to think of what these unseen forces were capable of if he didn’t try and resist them. Would their voices grow stronger? Maybe even speak to him with more than just the whispers of others? Or maybe they would try to hurt…

_Listen…_

Midnight winced. The word echoing through the cassems of his skull, pushing aside anything else that might have been rattling around. It was Gavell who spoke, or a memory of him, at least. A ghost bellowing from behind a closet door.

_Listening to that which others do not is the only way you’re going to stay ahead of what’s to come. LISTEN._

“Listen…” The word seemed to dribble down from Midnight’s mind and find its way to his lips. It was a strange thought, one that frightened him. He hadn’t actually called upon the shadows before, let alone try and  _listen_  to them. Perhaps, if he tried to, he could find a shred of truth on their mischievous tongues. Something that could at least give him a clue about either himself or what was wrong with him.

Midnight gave a quick shake of his head.  _Am I really considering this? Taking the advice from some crazy pony?_  Simply recalling the memory of Gavell made Midnight’s stomach twist into knots. That stench that had assaulted his sense had left a scar on that wasn’t healing anytime soon.

Yet, even through the fear he felt when he conjured up the deranged look in Gavell’s face, Midnight couldn’t help but think harder on the advice the mad traveler had given him. Too many questions had filled him since the luncheon earlier that day. He wanted nothing more than to cut a hole in this blanket of confusion that has been smothering him since he first awoke on the rock farm. Answers. That’s all he wanted, plain and simple.

 _Well, there is something I can do about that, isn’t there?_  As a matter of fact, from Midnight’s position, there were two things he could do. He could seek out Gavell once more and try to force these answers from him. Midnight dismissed this idea as quickly as it came. By no means was he a brave pony. If he even managed to find the deranged pony again, which he had the feeling that he wouldn’t, there was no way he could bring himself to confront Gavell. The other option was to…

_Lissssten..._

Licking his lips, Midnight glanced over his friends again. Alabaster tossed around again and Whisper nuzzled Mr. Smiles, but both ponies were still breathing deeply.  _Fast asleep._  It did occur to Midnight once or twice that maybe he should share this burden of his with the two ponies.  _And what if they don’t accept it? Don’t accept you?_ That thought combated his senses whenever he tried to find the courage to confess, but somehow, that seed of doubt always managed to win out.  _What if the speaking of shadows is a greater ill omen than I first thought? It’s fortunate enough that I found myself in the company of such ponies, ponies as understanding as them. If I alienate myself from Whisper and Alabaster, I don’t think I could make it much farther on my own. Not as I am right now._

The shadows, fleeing from the rays of moonlight veining in, had crept a long way across the walls when the dust from the war waging in Midnight’s head had settled. Those azure pools of his flickered with uncertainty, but he kept those waves of doubt contained. He didn’t need his resolve shaking now. With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes and  _listened_.

It was a strange sensation, to actually open himself and his senses to the bodiless whispers that haunted him. Much to his surprise, though, his open invitation for conversation was meet with a vague sense of disinterest. What Midnight had expected was an overload of voices, much like what had happened the night he first camped with his new companions. Yet, as he struggled to keep his mind cleared of any arbitrary thoughts, he noted that the flood he had expected was little more than a trickle.

What few voices that spoke to him did so in low, guttural tones. Midnight fished around for a time longer, trying to cast his mental net out further and further, hoping to the heavens that something useful would swim into his grasp. Minutes marched on like eons dying before a forgotten god, and yet nothing came.

As Midnight's mind’s eye widened, his other sense became muffled. The back of his eyelids had became an endless field stretching before his lying form while the rhythmic drone of the crickets had faded from, as if cotton had been stuffed into his ears. Because of this, Midnight never saw the silhouettes of shadows dancing around the feet of his chair. The dark masses flickered and whirled around him like black flames, edging closer every minute.

The moving shadows went still, like a troublemaking foal caught in the act of something foul, when Midnight’s mind crept out of the murky depths of its suclesion. His eyes were watery upon opening, and for a moment, the unlit room appeared like a smeared oil painting left in a heavy drizzle. Seconds later, his sight began to clear. Nothing had happened…

 _Maybe it’s for the best. In fact-_  Midnight’s spared himself a wry smile.  _I think I’m kind of glad that-_

That thought died suddenly. His net had been tugged, something finally tumbled into his invisible clutches. Which came as quite the shock to him since he thought he had reeled that net in.

A voice rolled through the silence like a distant thunderhead. It spoke softly at first, even friendly like, but its voice grew and increased in volume the longer it continued to speak. Yet, the spectre had only one word to say. That single word cut into the pony’s very being, doing away with his flesh and sinking deep into his bones. Nay, his soul.

_“Midnight…”_

Midnight knew he should have been afraid, yet his senses were too jangled for him to process fear. Staring at the window, as dead faced as a rigor mortised corpse, his mind raced to catch up with him.

His name had carried through the air, chilling it like a December breeze. Casting a glance over at the bed, he saw that his friends were still fast asleep. Alabaster even gave a little snore, as if to reassure him.  _Perhaps I was only hearing things? I am growing rather paranoid, aren’t I? My nerves must be playing tricks on me._

He knew better than to kid himself, yet Midnight tried to hold on to that thought. Maybe if he believed in it hard enough, he could make the thought reality. If only he could have just been allowed to be so delusional.

As his sputtering heart began to calm itself, he allowed his gaze to part from the window and fall to the floor. Even if something was out there, from where Midnight sat all he could see of the town was a few lonely rooftops from across the street. Curling on the cushion, resting his head on his crossed hooves, Midnight made up his mind that he had just heard the wind and nothing else. He was going to close his eyes and go to sleep, and if sleep persisted to avoid him, then he would simply pretend. He would pretend to sleep till the break of dawn if he had to. Whatever it took to keep himself sane, he would do it.

_“Midnight...”_

Closer. The voice sounded closer now, as if it’s speaker was standing in the street his window overlooked. Midnight buried his face into his hooves like a cowering foal. He hoped against hope that one of his friends would stir. Nothing would make him feel better in the whole wide world than to hear a tired, bedraggled Alabaster sit up in the bed and rasp, “Who the hell’s yelling out there?” But that never happened. The voice spoke to Midnight, and to Midnight alone.  _Just as all the shadows do._

His name would ring out a few more times through the night, eliciting a shudder from Midnight each time, but the voice refused to draw nearer.  _It wants me to come out,_  Midnight thought, beginning to loose the lucidity that held his mind together. The thought was ludicrous, of course, but with the fear came lethargy and lunacy. Not exactly a cocktail of sane thoughts. Time began to blur as he forced himself into the back of his mind.

It was possible that he had finally found sleep. Midnight wasn’t quite sure either, though he did not care. The voice had become nothing more than a distant echo, as did the rest of the sleeping world. Little did he know that the shadows had resumed their dance, this time moving with much more vigor. A few even dared to stray and snake up the chair, moving close where the pony lay...


End file.
